


Dream A little Dream Of Me

by Mizzswan



Series: DALDOM [1]
Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mary has amnesia, Rating May Change, nurse francis basically, there aren't enough modern aus with these two and I'm thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzswan/pseuds/Mizzswan
Summary: She just wants everything to stop.The universe grants her wish in the form of a truck, headlights, and shattered glass.Modern Au, not historical in the slightest.





	1. Forget Me Not

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They’re happy, they have a home, a child, their marriage isn’t- _wasn’t _crumbling. Until about ten minutes ago, until he came in and delivered the bomb that put every bomb in existence to shame. _That’s a bit of an over-exaggeration, Mary. This really isn’t that bad. _Her mind is a bit of a minefield at the moment. One half of it offers up mental images of him and a certain blonde, it makes her see them together; _touching_. The other half wants to both laugh at the absurdity of it and scream that she told him so; because she did tell him so. She told him a million times. 

Now, here he is, telling her she was right and that he’s sorry when the damage has already been done. The hard stone of infidelity has made the smallest of cracks in her perfect glasshouse. Infidelity might be pushing it, but she’s hurt and it’s the only word that her head is giving her. Mary stares out the window of the kitchen, their kitchen. Her perfect, safe, happy kitchen in her perfect, safe, happy home. The rain is heavy on the glass, large water droplets slide down the cold surface and she watches it. 

“Mary.” Francis doesn't move from his spot by the archway that leads to the living room, where he moved, where he has a view of the small bedroom door that hides the small little human they made together. In this kitchen, actually. His voice is soft, apologetic, and she hates that just the sound of it alone makes her whole body ache for his arms. His stupid, warm and safe arms that seem to block out every single bad thought in the world. It’s not that bad, this can be fixed. It can be fixed and they’ll be fine. She doesn't move away from her spot by the window, arms folded around her body like a hug. 

“Did it feel good?” She asks him, swallowing the hard lump in the back of her throat, “Did it feel like old times?” Did it revert him back to when he was a teenager and so so in love with his first love, his first everything? Did the memories of her body pressed to his resurface? Did, for just a second, he wish she was the one who was waiting for him to come home every night? 

“No.” She sees him twist his wedding ring in the reflection and her stomach churns. “I don't know.”

“You don't know.”

“It felt familiar.”

“_Familiar_.” She scoffs, is that supposed to make her feel better?

“Mary-”  
“I told you.” She says softly, voice hoarse despite not crying, not yet. Tears will come soon, however, if he keeps looking at her like she hung the moon in the sky just for him. She doesn't hear him come over to her, she doesn't hear him cross the room, stand behind her. She does feel him place his hands gently on her shoulders to try and get her to turn around and look at him but she just jerks herself away. “Please, don't touch me, that’s the last thing I want from you right now.” 

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, “Can you at least look at me?” She shakes her head, back still turned away. If she looks at him she’s sure she’ll break, or she’ll yell and scream and she can't yell, she can't scream. She doesn't want to wake her kid, she doesn't want to worry him. She should be yelling and she should be screaming, she should be throwing things. She should be making it known to him how angry she is. How sick she feels because of his stupid decisions. 

“I have to go.” She decides with a heavy sigh as she runs her hands over her face, “I don't want to be here right now.”

“Mary-” Oh he’s moving now, following her as she heads for her coat and snags her keys off the hook, checks her pockets for her phone. “Don't leave, please.” She doesn't say anything, doesn't look at him as she pulls her jacket on. 

“I’ll still take James to school in the morning, but you’ll...you’ll have to make him breakfast.” She explains, “He’ll want to know where I am, so just tell him I...went somewhere with Aunt Kenna.” She wraps her hand around the doorknob and tries to open it but his hand slams it shut. 

“You’re not leaving.” He says, “Not with this storm, not until we talk.”  
“I can't talk to you at the moment because all I want to do is scream and cry.” She says softly, swallowing, “But if I do that, I’ll wake up our kid and he’ll want to know why mommy is crying and I don't think he’ll take __because daddy put his mouth on another woman's__ very well. So either you move, or I lose it.” 

“I’m not moving.” He says sternly and he means it, he really does but at that precise moment, she remembers they have a whole other door. She rolls her eyes as she turns away and heads for it. Francis doesn't follow right away, he mistakenly assuming she’s changed her mind and is headed for the stairs. She almost makes it without him noticing, without him realizing but, no that would be too easy.

“Hey!” It’s a shout when he realizes, “__Hey__!” Another one to get her to turn around but she doesn't and the sound of frantic feet hitting hardwood makes her break out in a run. It’s almost comical, really, the fact that they’re running like that door is a light shining after some very dark days, but all humor fades when he grabs her and presses her up against the wall. Now, now she’s really fuming as she pushes against him.

“Let go!”

“No.”

“Francis, you’re being ridiculous!”

“I’m being ridiculous?” He asks loudly, “You’re trying to leave, have you seen what’s happening outside?!” He tightens his grip on her when she almost gets free and he’s not hurting her, but she’s two seconds away from kicking him. “You don’t have to leave if you don't want to talk to me about this, fine. I’ll...I’ll sleep on the couch, I’ll keep my distance until-”

"Until __what__?!” She finally frees herself, giving him a hard shove, “I’m ready to discuss why you felt the need to- to want another? Am I not enough?” She’s shouting now, she can't hold it back. She runs her hands over her face, “Did it have to be Olivia!?” She screams that. Olivia has been a problem since day freaking one, she should have known one day he’d…

The tears spill, they rush forward before she even feels the sting in her eyes and she covers her mouth as she gasps. She can’t be in here with him, she can't bear even breathing in the same vicinity as him. She shakes her head when he reaches and pushes when he comes for her anyway. She doesn't say anything as she pulls the door open, doesn't turn around when she hears him shout for her under a monsoon of rain and thunder. He doesn't call her until she’s pulled out and speeding down the street. Greer only lives an hour away and she’s the only one out of her friends who won't interrogate the hell out of her to find out what happened. Her phone rings and rings and she lets it, she’s too busy trying to see through her tears and the rain hitting her windshield to answer and she doesn't care if that worries him. 

She needs to drink and cry and drink some more. She wants to forget, just for a little bit, she wants to stop imagining them together. She wants the images of Francis’ lips on Olivia’s to go away. She just wants everything to __stop. __

The universe grants her wish in the form of a truck, headlights, and shattered glass.

_ _-/-_ _

The hospital lights hurt. Everything hurts, but mostly her head. It feels like her skull is being stepped on like, it’s split in two, like her brain is growing bigger and bigger and pushing on the bones until they crack. She opens her eyes, the light hitting them makes her groan.

“Good morning, Miss Stuart.” Is a soft and sweet voice, “You’ve been out for a little while now, we were starting to worry.” She squints, opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She wants her mom, that’s the first thought, the second is wondering how the hell she got here. 

“I…” She trails off, her head hurts too much to speak and the lady with the sweet voice is shining something in her eyes now, which hurts. She can't even wake up before they start poking and prodding, can she? 

“The doctor will be in shortly, how about I go find your husband?” She says softly, sweetly like she didn't just drop the world's biggest bomb in her lap. Her __what now? __She doesn't have one? Surely this nurse has the wrong girl? But she referred to her by name. She doesn't have time to panic or to even ask what she’s talking about because the woman turns her attention to someone else entering the room. 

“She just woke up, she may be a little confused at first.” She tells them before she’s swiftly replaced by someone else. 

“Mary?” His voice is soft and his hand slides into hers as he approaches, “Oh thank god.” He breathes, relieved, as he pulls her hand up to his lips. “I’m so sorry.” She pulls her hand away quickly. What the hell? __Who __the hell? He looks hurt by that but then nods like he understands as he sits in the little leather chair by the bed. She lets herself look at him, take him in. He’s very...pretty? The blonde curls on his head look soft and he has some of the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, the shirt he’s wearing is a bit wrinkled under the dark navy jacket. He smells like cigarettes and...tea? An interesting combination. 

The gold band on his finger makes her stomach twist uncomfortably. The matching one on her finger makes it worse. He has the wrong room. Or she’s dreaming, she hopes she’s dreaming. She’ll wake up soon in her moms' brownstone, clean up the beer bottles before her mother wakes from her alcohol-induced coma and starts all over again and then she’ll go to her morning classes. It’ll be fine, this will just be a funny story to tell her friends. 

This feels too real, the pain is unlike anything she’s felt before, this can't be a dream. She feels herself start to shake, she’s not married, there’s no way. She’s never even been on a date before who the hell-

“Where’s my mom?” She blurts, her voice is small and frantic and pleading. “I want her…” She has to be here, her mother isn't great but she’s been trying more, she’d be here if she knew Mary was hurt. The man, her husband, makes a face like he’s confused.

“What?” He asks softly

“My mom…”

“Your mom?” He questions softly, sadly, like he knows something she doesn't and now it's her turn to make a face. “Um-” He swallows hard, “Baby, she’s...she died...three years ago.” He says that slowly, softly, reaching for her hand, “You remember?” No, no she would remember __that__. She would remember her mom dying, she would remember a funeral, she would know. She takes a deep breath, tries to think back but there’s nothing. The last time she saw her mom was before she left for work, she was sipping a glass of wine on the couch. She told her to be careful. She’s not dead, he doesn't know what he’s talking about. He’s searching her face now as she gives in to her panic and she yanks her hand out of his to grab at her head. It hurts, it hurts so much and this is all too much and she can't breathe. 

“Mary.” He says her name softly, “Mary-”

“Don't touch me.” She snaps when he reaches. She doesn't know him, she doesn't know who he is. What’s happening? “No...no…” Her whole body is shaking now, her chest is tightening, she just wants someone she knows to tell her what's going on. 

“Mary, please.” He says softly and when she looks at him, she sees he’s panicking a little too. He moves his chair a little closer, “Do…” He starts with a heavy sigh, pleading face, “Do you know who I am?” 

“No.” She cries softly and he looks absolutely gutted by that answer. He completely deflates as he leans back in his chair, running his hands over his face. 

He gets up quickly, he rushes out of the room and before she knows it, she’s facing a room of doctors while he stands by the door looking more and more terrified with each passing question. 

* * *

Retrograde amnesia is the final diagnosis, it was likely caused by the skull fracture, the force of which she hit her head knocked a good chunk of her memories out. She learns his name is Francis, her husband's name is Francis. They’ve been married six years, they met seven years ago. She lost nine years of her life, she doesn't remember meeting him or dating him, getting engaged and then married. 

“Oh, this one was Leeza’s wedding,” Lola informs her as she holds a photo album in her lap, seated on the edge of the bed as she leans it towards Mary so she can look. “His sister, Leeza.” The girl in the picture has dark hair, short and frames her round face. She doesn't look anything like Francis she thinks, “And next to her is Claude, his other sister.” Lola points at the girl next to her. She looks a little more like him, she has his smile but her hair is auburn, the tight curls are piled on top of her head. 

“Ringing any bells?” Lola asks, raising an eyebrow and Mary shakes her head, the next page is of Mary’s own wedding. She’s dressed in a white dress with lace and an open back, long sleeves, it’s pretty, she wishes she could remember it. She imagines it was comfortable. Lola, Kenna, and Greer are matching in lavender gowns as they’re pictured helping Mary get her veil over her head. It’s weird seeing her wedding and not being able to remember it. 

“Can we take a break?” Mary asks softly and Lola nods, her head hurts and she doubts looking at pictures all day is going to help. 

“Francis is out in the hall talking to your doctor, he should be back in a minute.” She says as she closes the photo album, “I’m going to go grab some coffee, do you want some?” Can she have coffee with all the medication they have her on? It sounds good, so she nods. What's the worst that can happen? Lola sets the album on the chair next to the bed and leaves. So, Mary is alone. She toys with her wedding rings, a gold band, and a diamond ring. She twists them, watching the pretty rock shimmer in the fluorescents. She’s married. She has a husband. This all feels like some twisted reality, some dream she can't wake up from. 

He’s still around but he’s kept his distance, he doesn't want to overwhelm her it seems, but she’s already so overwhelmed. What’s next? Her eyes shift over to the photo album resting on the chair. It’s useless, she knows, she spent most of the day looking through it and not remembering anything, but she grabs it and pulls it into her lap.

She flips through photos of her wedding, Christmas, birthdays, and stops on one that makes her stomach drop. It’s her and her mother on a hospital bed, her mother looks paler and thin, her dark curls are pulled back and Mary rests her head on her shoulder. This must have been right before she…

She sends the book to the floor with a loud thud, tears hitting her eyes, a few pictures scatter out. She just wants to remember something, even if it's small, just one tiny thing. She wants Aylee and her mom to not be dead, she doesn't want to be married, she wants to remember meeting Francis and dating him, falling in love…

It’s not fair. 

The door opens to a very worried Francis and he comes in, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was just the book that hit the floor and not his wife. He walks over, bending to scoop the photo album off the floor and set it back on the chair where it was before.  
“I know it’s frustrating.” He says softly as he places the discarded photos on top, “But the good news is that the doctor is pretty sure it’s temporary.” She wipes at her eyes, sniffling as she takes the tissues Francis holds out to her. She dabs at her eyes and then looks down at her hands when he offers her a reassuring smile. What if it isn’t? What if she never remembers him?

“And he said you can go home soon.” He says softly like that will make this any better.

“I don't even know where home is.” She snaps, it earns her a frown, “Sorry…”

“It’s alright.”

“Do...I have to go home with you?” She asks without looking up.

“Uh-”

“I don't know you.”

“I know.” He says softly, sadly, and she feels bad about it. This must be terrible for him too, to see the woman he fell for doesn't remember him at all. After getting a call that she’d been in a serious accident and he wasn't sure if she’d make it. 

Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t.

“Maybe one of your friends wou-”  
“No.” She says quickly, she is curious to see where they live, how they live. Is it a big house? Do they have a yard? Pets? __Kids__? Maybe she’ll remember something at home, maybe her memories will pop back in her head once she’s in a familiar environment and not being poked and prodded by doctors. 

“I should...go home with you.” She says softly, “I want to see your- __our __house.”

“Are you sure?” He asks and she nods, offering him a tiny smile which he returns as he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It won't be for a few days, for now, you need to rest.” He tells her as he gestures for her to lie down, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. She notices he's careful about not allowing his fingers to linger for too long.


	2. Home Sweet Home

The room is dark the next time she opens her eyes, the beeping from machines rousing her from sleep. She tries not to make too much noise as she tosses and turns, finally finding a more comfortable spot in this overwhelmingly firm hospital bed. The soft sound of a page turning makes her glance over at the couch by the window, a small lamp lit to give a little light. That’s where Francis sits, one leg crossed over the other, a book between his fingers, eyes cast down at the pages.

He’s reading at three in the morning. Does he sleep? Ever? Did she marry a vampire? She hasn't even seen him eat anything or really drink and now it’s made known that he doesn't even  _ sleep _ . 

“Did I wake you?” He asks without even glancing at her,  _ and he apparently has supersonic hearing.  _

“Did I wake  _ you _ ?” She asks and the question makes the corners of his mouth tilt up but he still doesn't look away from his book. He hasn't changed his clothes, his hair is a little messy, he looks  _ rough _ and more than a little attractive but she’d rather die than let him hear her say that. He has to be tired. There’s no way he isn't. 

“I don't sleep much.”

“You should sleep.” She says softly, “Aren't you tired?”

“What if you need something?” He asks that softly, fondly and she squinted at him. He knows the hospital is staffed with dozens of people perfectly qualified to get her whatever she needs at any hour, right?

“There’s a...a button that beckons a nurse…” He doesn't say anything as he turns another page. 

“And you have a husband who is just as capable.” 

“Francis-”   
“I’m alright.” He says sweetly, “Go back to sleep.” He tells her and she sits up, wincing at her still very sore body as it protests the movement. He does look up now, closing his book. 

“I’m fine.” She says quickly when it looks like he’s getting up, that doesn't stop him from crossing the room to her. He just wants to take care of her, isn't that what married people do? Take care of each other? He props a pillow up behind her back so she can lean back comfortably and still sit up. If he’s about to say something, he’s cut off by the ringing on the table and he rushes over to get it. 

He makes a slightly annoyed sound when he checks to see who it is and then he’s grabbing his coat. 

“Where are you going?” She asks quickly.

“Outside?”

“Why?” He doesn't have an answer to that, he shrugs. He always leaves the room to take a call, and he gets a lot of them. Does he know he doesn't have to? Does he know he can take a call within the confines of this hospital and that there are no rules against it? 

“You can answer it here.” She says softly, it’s raining, it's just a light drizzle but it looks like it's cold outside.

“It's just my mother.” He tells her, “She’s very worried about you.” Oh, does she have a good relationship with her in-laws? She wonders what they’re like. Are they nice? It’s probably on its last ring by the time he answers it. 

“It’s late.” Is the first thing he says, no hello, just,  _ it's late _ . “She’s still sore but she feels better.” He says softly throwing a glance Mary’s way. He pauses for a little while, “Why is he still up?” That question is a little on edge, as he pinches the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. This pause is longer, he tries to interject a few times to no avail, “He has school in the morning, you know that, right?” Another pause, “No.” Pause. “I need to talk to him first, I’m not really sure how to- no.” He rolls his eyes and it’s, honestly, the greatest thing she’s seen. “This isn't the type of thing to tell a child over the phone.”

Wait.

“Thank- I love you too. Tell him I’ll stop by tomorrow, I’ll give you a key to stop by the house. I think it’ll be a few more days before she can-” Pause, “No.” Another pause, “Again, no.” Pause, “Bye.” He hangs up with a heavy and frustrated sigh before he turns back to Mary. 

So, the _he_ in question is school-aged, he wants to see Francis, and... _ oh.  _

“Do we have a kid?” She blurts it loudly, and he sighs but he also nods and then he’s walking over to her. Her freak out must be showing on her face. No wonder he took calls away from her, they have a kid and she doesn't remember. She’s a  _ mother _ ? She gave  _ birth _ ?

They had  _ sex _ !?

Okay, she knows they’re married, married people...do that, but at least she had deniability before, now she doesn't. They made a whole human and she doesn't remember. 

“I…” He starts, “I didn't know how to…”

“What, tell me we have a kid!?” She shrieks that, oh my god and he’s school-aged, he’s probably confused. Oh, what if he wants to see her? What if he-

“It's been a stressful few days, I didn't want to overwhelm you.” He says softly, soothingly and she runs her hands through her hair, pulling at the edges. She needs a minute, just a second to process this information. Consider her overwhelmed. When was he planning on telling her? When they go home and she’s being tackled by a small person? Over dinner? In the fucking car?

“How old is he?” She breathes after a few minutes, her mind is still reeling but she’s calmed herself down enough to ask the questions. 

“Five.” He says softly, “He just started school a few months ago, he doesn't like it much.” What kid does? 

“His name?”

“James.”

“After my brother.” Her nose wrinkles at that, “Wow we’re creative.”

“You were insistent.” He smirks, of course, it was her idea.

“What does he look like?” She’s thinking blonde, maybe a direct copy of Francis. She’s wrong, he shows her a few pictures. He’s...adorable. He has dark curls, pretty blue eyes, a cute button nose. He’s a blend of both of them. “What’s he like?” She asks softly and Francis pulls up a chair.

“He like dinosaurs, he knows a lot of random things about them. I’m not sure where he gets the information from, maybe he just makes it up.” He tells her, “And he likes space too, oh he’s very fond of the idea of dinosaurs  _ in _ space.” 

“In space?”   
“Yeah. He thinks that’s where they all went after the meteor. I don't know, I don't ask at this point. You learn to just smile and nod after a while.” 

“Does he like me?”

“He adores you.” He says softly, “You’re great with him, a bit too lenient sometimes, but incredible nonetheless.” She smiles, so she’s a mom and she’s a good one. It’s a relief, so her own mother didn't screw her up too badly. 

“Where is-”   
“He’s with my mother, has been since the accident.” He says with a sigh.

“What about my brother, is he-”   
“He’s still alive.” Francis says dryly, “I called him but he hasn't gotten back to me. I don't think he will, he doesn't like me, much.”

“Why?”

“He was under the impression that I was using you for your mother's inheritance. I don't know why it’s not like you found me begging for scraps on the street.” He shrugs, “I’ll try him again in the morning.”

“Okay…” She wants to see him, or at least talk to him. She wants to know how he is, what he’s up to, she doesn't remember the last time she saw him. It would be nice to see a familiar face.

_ -/- _

It’s been a week and a half since she woke up without any memories, married to a man she doesn't know, a child she doesn't remember having, and confusion on top of confusion, on top of- you guessed it- more confusion. She holds onto the bed railing as Kenna helps her stand, careful not to hold her too tight. She’s still sore, but it’s better. 

Kenna unties the hospital gown, the paper fabric giving way, gliding down her arms. They both shriek when the door flies open.

“OUT!” Kenna shouts as she jumps in front of Mary to conceal her bare chest. Francis exits hastily, a spew of sorrys leaving his mouth. 

“Did he see?” Mary asks, her face is heating up as she covers herself with her arms.

“Honey, he’s seen  _ all of you _ .” She informs her, “Plenty of times.” Mary’s face heats up even more as she tries her best not to think about that, “There was this one time, I came over to bring you something and I walked in on the two of you on the couch. No blanket, just sweat and limbs and-”   
“Stop, please.” She groans as her face gets even redder if that were at all possible. She very much wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole right now.

“Right, forgot you’ve reverted back to the Virgin Mary.” She jokes as she grabs the neatly folded sweater off the chair by the bed. “Arms up.” She says sweetly. Once she’s dressed and seated on the edge of the bed, Kenna combs through her hair with her fingers. It’s tangled and messy, but that’s what happens when she’s forced to lay down all day. She turns her attention to the window, it just stopped raining so the ground is wet and glistening in the morning sun. 

She can’t wait to go outside, to feel the breeze and hear the birds, to feel like a normal person again. 

“Alright, I will go retrieve your pretty blonde prince,” Kenna says with a pat on her head before she leaves too.  _ Pretty blonde prince,  _ she laughs a little, he  _ does _ look like he walked straight out of a Disney movie. 

Mary twists her rings around her finger, she’s getting kind of used to them being there, she no longer has a mini panic attack when she sees them. She wonders how he proposed were there flowers and candles and romance? Did he get down on one knee? Did he do it in front of everyone? She hopes he didn't do it at a wedding, that seems a little disrespectful to the bride and groom. Maybe he did it in the privacy of their own home. She wants to remember, it’s frustrating. The sound of the door opening makes her jump and Francis comes in with Kenna trailing behind him. 

“Are you ready?” He asks and she nods, watching as he bends to grab a bag of clothes off the floor. Kenna eyes him with a smirk and promptly mouths,  _ he has a nice ass,  _ with a thumbs up. Mary rolls her eyes.

“I see Kenna is being weird again.” He says and she makes a face.

“Okay how did you see that?” 

“I didn't, Mary rolled her eyes, but thanks for the confirmation.” Kenna frowns as she steps back, but still amused as she heads over to Mary. She helps her stand as Francis grabs the rest of his things, he seems to have brought the whole house, some desperate attempt to get to remember  _ something _ . 

She doesn't even get to enjoy the nice breeze before she’s being gently shoved into the car, Kenna leans over her to fasten her seatbelt. 

“It won't be too bad.” She says softly, “I’m just a call away.”

“You’re not coming?” Mary asks softly, she doesn't mean to sound a little helpless, a little scared. She’s never been alone with a man before. Well, she has, she just doesn't remember. What if he isn't as nice behind closed doors? She did wake up in a hospital bed. 

“You’ll be okay.” She says soothingly, “If you ask Francis nicely, maybe he’ll give you a sponge bath.” 

“Kenna-”   
“It's okay, you’ll be fine. I promise and if you aren't, I have a baseball bat with his windshields name on it.”

“I heard that!” Francis says from the trunk.

“Good!” Kenna shouts back. “You were supposed to.” They hear the trunk slam shut and the car moves with it. It makes Mary grip her friend tighter, the nervous knots in her stomach tightening right along with her fingers. Kenna gives her a small reassuring smile as she removes Mary’s hands from her arm and steps back. “He’ll take care of you.” She says seriously as she closes the door. Francis gets in a moment later, reaching over to adjust the blanket in her lap as he starts the car. 

“Are you cold?” She shakes her head. She peers out the window as they pull away, watching Kenna’s waving form get smaller and smaller the farther they go. 

He assures her the house isn’t far from the hospital and she watches the tree’s pass in blurs of oranges and vivid reds. They’re in the throes of fall, the street glistens with the remnants of this mornings rainstorm, and the sunny morning gives way to a cloudy afternoon. It looks like it might rain again, maybe a storm. Each house they pass she thinks it's theirs, but he never stops, he just passes them. 

“We’re almost home.” He says like he senses her growing anticipation. “Shouldn't be much longer now.” It isn't, before long he’s pulling into a paved driveway and stopping. The house is on a small hill, a big red brick with a wrap-around porch and a dark pointed roof. She can see over the fence, the swing set in the backyard and what looks like an inground pool. She glances around once she’s out of the car before Francis steers her towards the side of the house towards a screen door. 

“It’s a bit of a mess,” He says as he opens the curtains in the kitchen and she looks around. The kitchen is nice, spacious, lots of counter space. There’s an island in the middle, the fridge is tucked in the wall, separated from the rest of the appliances. There’s a small round dining table by the large window, right next to the door they just walked in and there are two plates next to the sink. It looks...nice. 

“You can look around.” He encourages, giving her a bit of a shove towards the archway. There are two, one that leads to the living room and one that leads to a hallway that stretches and stops at the entryway. She goes in the living room while Francis heads back outside to retrieve their things. The room is dark, the curtains are drawn, no one has been home for a little while. There are framed pictures on the walls, the dark hardwood floors creak slightly under her feet. 

The couch is pushed back against the wall, a leather L-shaped sectional and she blushes as she remembers what Kenna told her earlier. About...walking in on them.  _ Don’t think about that, Mary. _ She shakes her head.

The fireplace mantle is decorated with framed pictures and small figurines. She feels her chest tighten when she catches a glimpse of the framed ultrasound picture. A vase full of white and red flowers rests on the round coffee table and how the hell do they have a white rug with a five-year-old running around? Isn't that their job to make messes?

She sits on the couch, pulling a blue knitted blanket in her lap and toys with the frayed edges. She hears Francis’ footsteps approaching, the soft thud of a bag hitting the floor and then he’s leaning on the archway in the kitchen, looking at her.

“Everything okay?”

“Where’s James?” She asks softly, she hasn't been tackled yet. She thought he’d be here.

“He’s with my mother, just until I can…” Explain that his mother has no idea who he is. Yeah, that would be difficult for anyone to do. “You must be tired.” She isn't. She’s been sleeping enough the last few days, “The doctor said to take it easy.”

“Right.” She says softly, and then what? What happens when she doesn't have to take things easy. Will he expect her to...will he want- She shakes her head again. He wouldn't do that, he wouldn't ask that of her, not when she doesn't really know who he is. No, sex is off the table.

“Mary?” He questions softly, “Do...you remember anything from the night of the accident?” She shakes her head, she remembers nothing. 

“No.” She answers, “I don't even...know how to drive.” Well, she had to have learned, she was driving when it happened. She just doesn't remember learning. Who taught her? Did he teach her? He’s looking at her with a face she can't read as he fidgets with his ring. 

“Why?” She asks after a few beats of silence.

“Just wondering.” He says softly and she frowns. She’s missing something. He looks...she’s not sure the right word is guilty. “Let's get you to bed.” He says after another few seconds of silence. She nods, allowing him to pull her up and help her navigate the stairs.


	3. The Night We Met

Their bedroom has a white and grey theme, it looks more lived-in than the rest of the house. The bed is still unmade, her makeup is still strewn about on the vanity and her closet is a mess. She doesn't have to ask who the messy one in the relationship is. This house relies heavily on natural lighting. The floor is the same hardwood as the rest of the house, the walls are a light grey with white trim and the windows are large, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. 

Overall, it’s pretty plain. There aren't a lot of decorations but they probably aren't in this room a lot. She sits on the edge of the bed, still looking around. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks as he pulls the large comforter back and she shakes her head as she lies down. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She’s still heavily medicated from the hospital so for the time being, the pain isn't so great she can't move. 

“They gave me your phone.” He says softly, “It’s a little damaged but it still works.” 

“Oh.”

“You can look through it after you rest.” She nods, it might help her remember something. Even small, maybe it’ll give her some insight on what their life was like before her memories went shooting out of her ears. He covers her, smoothing the fabric down before he stands and she thinks maybe he’ll lie down with her, but he moves towards the door.

“Wait.”  
“Yes?” He questions, turning around to look at her. 

“I...thought you’d…”

“What?” He tilts his head and she can already feel her face heat up.

“I just...you didn't sleep at the hospital.” She says, looking at her hands because she can't bear to look at his face. “I thought you’d want to-”

“I...have some things to take care of first.” He says softly, “I need to make a few phone calls, check on James.”

“Right.”

“You get some sleep, okay? I’ll check on you later. You don't have to worry about me.” He smiles though, fondly, before he steps out, the door clicking behind him.

She stares up at the ceiling as she waits for sleep to take her. She’s mostly awake, as she said before, she’s slept so much already. Mary drums her fingers on her stomach, listening to the wind howl outside. Would Francis let her take a walk? Just for a little bit, she may forget where she lives if she does that though. So, he probably wouldn't. Unless he takes a walk with her.

She closes her eyes as she listens. She can hear Francis downstairs, she can hear him walking around, she’s already accustomed to the sound of his heavy boots hitting the hardwood floor. It sounds different than the hospital tiles, but it still sounds like him. 

He’s talking to someone on the phone, though she can't really hear what he’s saying, she can only make out bits and pieces. She hears “_ My fault _” clear as day though because he said it loudly and that piques her interest. 

“I shouldn't have let her leave.” He says after a pause, “I knew something was going to happen.” After another and then, “I should have tried harder.” He sounds upset, tormented, haunted and she frowns. What’s his fault? The accident, she’s the one who was driving, it's not his fault. It’s her fault for being reckless. She doesn't want him to blame himself, the thought makes her chest tighten. He’s been so good to her, the last thing she wants is for him to agonize over it. 

“I just want my wife back…” Is what almost breaks her, her frown deepens and she stops listening. She blinks back her tears until they’re gone and closes her eyes to try and sleep.

_ -/- _

_ It’s times like these that make her wish she had a car. If it wasn't for school taking up most of her funds, she would have one by now. She works with Greer at a bar, she doesn't touch the alcohol since she’s underage, but she waitresses, it pays well enough. Most of it goes towards school though and leaves her with little spending money. Greer stays behind to work a later shift since she can work with beer, and that’s fine but sometimes their hours don't line up so she can't drive her home. Work isn't far from home but it’s dark and it feels like it’s going to rain. She hears someone whistle at her and when she looks back she sees a group of men following her. _

_ She speeds up, wraps her hand around the pepper spray in her pocket. _

_ “Hey, baby, where ya going?” One calls, they sound drunk. She probably served them earlier, they probably left shortly after she did. One of them calls for a smile and her stomach twists because he sounds closer. _

_ “I have pepper spray.” _

_ “Darling, there you are.” Someone says loudly, falling into step next to her. She jumps when she feels his hand on the small of her back. _

_ “Don't-” _

_ “They waited for you.” He whispers that, and she swallows as she walks a little closer to him. They slow their pace when he looks back to see they’ve halted in their chase. He doesn't seem threatening, he even eventually remove his hand from the small of her back, but he stays close in case they come back. She tightens her hand on the weapon, if he tries anything, he’s within the spray zone. _

_ “This is me…” She says softly as they approach her mother's brownstone, the lights are still on. She wasn't expecting her to be up. He walks her to the door, and now that he’s in the light, she can see him. All blonde hair and blue eyes of him. _

_ Dammit, he’s really pretty. _

_ He seems to be having the same revelation as she is because he looks at her in a way she’s never been looked at before. If this were a Disney movie, they’d probably be singing right now. _

_ “Um.” He says softly, “Stay safe, miss.” _

_ “Mary.” She says quickly before he can leave, “My name is Mary.” _

_ “Francis.” He smiles and she returns it, swaying awkwardly. She should go inside before her mom comes and- _

_ The door opens. _

_ “Mary, I thought you were going to be home-” Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees her daughter isn't alone. “Oh.” _

_ “Mom, this is Francis.” She says softly, “He was just walking me home.” His expression softens as he gives a little wave to her mother and smiles. _

_ “Hey.” Why does she feel like she just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar? This is awkward. Remember the rain she referenced earlier? _

_ It chooses now to come down and it comes down hard. _

_ “Oh dear, please tell me you drove.” Her mother says softly and he shakes his head, Marie De Guise all but glows at that. “Mary.” She says with a clearing of her throat, “Ask the boy if he’d like to come in.” She whispers that only for Mary’s ears and she gives her mother a subtle glare before turning back to Francis. _

_ “Um...do you want to come in? Wait out the rain…” She asks. Please say no, please say no, please say n- _

_ “That sounds nice.” He smiles. That’s how they end up being shoved in chairs at the kitchen table. At least since her mother's fourth trip to rehab, they don't have to wade through a sea of beer bottles. Not for a while at least. She’s excited that Mary brought a friend home. She never brings people home. _

_ “I’m sorry.” She whispers when her mother finally leaves them alone, a firm ‘talk to him’ on her lips as she left. _

_ “You don't bring men home often, do you?” He asks. _

_ “You’re the first.” He smiles wide and it does something to her insides, as he tilts a cup of water to his lips. _

_ “You never forget your first.” _

* * *

When she wakes she has the nagging feeling her dream was something important, but she’s forgotten most of it by now. It had something to do with cat-calling and pepper spray. Her head hurts too much to dwell on it. She can tell she isn't in a hospital by now, the drugs they gave her have worn off and she can hardly move with how bad her body hurts. The room feels like it’s spinning and every movement makes her nauseous. 

She can definitely tell she got hit by a truck. Where is Francis? She doesn't hear him downstairs and he isn't in the bed with her. She figured he’d come lay down but he didn't and she doesn't know where he is and her body is screaming. Or is she screaming? What's happening? She tries to roll on her back but ends up falling back on her stomach with a groan. 

“Fraaanncciiisss…” She calls for him but he doesn't come for her, she tries again and there’s still no answer. In her struggle to sit up, her elbow slams into something on the nightstand and sends it down to the floor, _loudly._

If he didn't hear that, the man is deaf. She falls back down on the bed with a nauseated groan, she’s going to throw up, probably all over herself. Maybe Francis will have to give her a sponge bath. She doesn't like that thought but she can't even react to it because her head is throbbing. She has convinced herself that her brain is going to fall out if she moves too much, is it irrational? Yes. Does that make it less scary? No. Her hands cup her skull. 

“Mary?” She hears his voice and then his footsteps as he climbs the stairs, he sounds like he’s running. Whatever she hit and sent to the floor must have scared him, oops. She feels his hands on her a moment later as he pulls the blankets back. “Are you in pain?” _ No, she’s yelling for you and holding her head for fun. _

“Mhm.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“I need to know so I know what to give you.” He says gently and she’s never wanted to strangle someone more than she does right now. 

“Head…my head.” She cries in her pillow and she doesn't notice he’s left until he’s coming back with a glass of water and some pills in hand. He sets them on the nightstand and reaches. 

“You need to sit up.” She shakes her head, which was a bad idea. Her brain feels like it’s liquid, she can almost hear it sloshing around in her skull. It’s going to leak out her ears if she moves, she swears. She mutters something unintelligible, face pressed in the pillow, muffling her already discombobulated statement. Is she crying or sweating?

“Mary-”  
“No.” She whines when he attempts to pull her up, he let's go with a sigh. 

“You can't take the medicine lying face down in a pillow.”

“My brain...it’s gonna fall out.” She cries and she swears she hears the faintest hint of a laugh coming from him. It’s not funny, this man does not know fear. 

“Honey your brain is not going to fall out.”

“You don't know that.”

“I think I do.”

“Are you a doctor?”  
“No.”

“Then shut_ up. _” She hisses as she presses her palms against her ears, it muffles sounds but it also keeps her brain within the confines of her skull, which she’s happy about. She lies like that for a little while, Francis has seated himself at the edge of the bed, obviously deciding to wait whatever she’s going through, out. When she finally moves, she shrieks at the sight of blood on her pillow. “See!”

“It’s just a nosebleed.” He seems pretty calm for someone witnessing his wife's brain leaking out of her nose. He jumps up and heads to the bathroom, coming back with some tissues. 

“I told you.” She cries as he helps her sit up, “It's coming out…”

“It’s not, it's not.” He says soothingly as he wipes the blood away and pinches to stop it. “The doctor said you may have a few while you heal.” And he didn't warn her? “It’s alright…” He whispers and when he pulls the tissue away, it's not bleeding anymore. “See? All better.” She sniffles as he reaches for her pills, holding them out to her, she’s still holding her head. She doesn't want to move her hands. She gives one firm shake of her head and he looks ready to drop kick her out a window. 

“It won't stop hurting until you take it.” He says as he reaches to remove one of her hands anchored to the side of her head. She jerks away. “Really?”

“I’m sorry is your brain the consistency of scrambled eggs? No, then _ don't touch me _.” That's a harsh snap, and she’d feel bad about it if she wasn't in so much pain right now. 

“Okay.” He breathes deeply, she’s being difficult, she knows and maybe a little annoying but he doesn't yell at her or shove the pills down her throat himself, he just sits there and waits. It’s nice, he’s so nice. “Open.” He instructs after a little while and she makes a face, “Or you can stay like that, in pain, forever.” She opens her mouth and he pops one in, tilting the glass to her lips, and then another, and then again. The pill scrapes her throat while it goes down, but the water helps and he sets the glass back on the nightstand. 

“Better?” He asks, like the two seconds they’ve been in her stomach is going to change anything. She shakes her head, they haven't had time to work yet. “Are you hungry?” She doesn't know, she can't tell, but she probably is so she nods. He exits the room after pulling the blanket back around her and she sits with her hands against her skull, feeling the throbbing pound less and less until it stops. 

He isn't back yet. She throws the blankets off and shivers when her bare feet meet the cold floor, she can hear him on the phone with someone as she stares at her newest enemy. _ The stairs. _ It’s alright, just one foot in front of the other, no big deal, she can do that. It doesn't hurt as bad going down them as it did going up them, she makes it halfway before her ankle decides it doesn't want to function and gives out on her. She falls with a yelp, clinging to the railing for dear life, her knee hit a stair and in an effort to keep her head from hitting something, she twisted her body and almost went over. The collision is loud, not as loud as something hitting the floor in the kitchen and a shout of her name, frantic feet hitting floor following closely behind.   
“What are you doing?!” Francis shouts, it's a worried shout but to her ears, he sounds angry as he gently pulls her up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” She’s saying over and over as he helps her the rest of the way down, hissing when she puts weight on her knee. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright. Why didn't you ask me to help you?” He asks softly because she shouldn't need help just walking down the freaking stairs. She shouldn't need his arm around her waist to keep her from falling over and she sure as hell shouldn't need pills shoved down her throat just to function. She doesn't say any of that though, she swallows instead, her stomach growling a little as he steers her towards the kitchen. 

“Sit.” He instructs softly as he gently eases her down in a chair at the table. “Don't move.”

“Wasn't planning on it.” She says softly, she really scared him, didn't she? There’s a broken bowl on the floor, pale blue shards of glass scattered about. She watches him sweep it up and discard it in a trash can under the sink before he pulls another down from the cupboard above the stove. 

“Next time,” he says softly as he stirs with a large spoon and then fills the bowl with soup, “Ask for help.” He sets the steaming food down in front of her and searches a drawer for a spoon before handing that to her as well. She looks down at the soup with a frown, shoulders slumping. He sounds mad. She went and angered him, he’s already stressed enough and she just went and made everything worse for him. 

“Are you mad at me?” She asks softly, her voice is small and childlike and she hates it. She scratches at her hospital bracelet, looking up to see his expression softens.

“No.” He breathes, “I’m not mad at you…” He sets a glass of water down in front of her before sitting down himself. He looks tired, she’s guessing he didn't sleep. He’s going to crash, she doesn't think he slept at all since the accident. He’s changed at least, and gotten a shower, shaved a bit. 

“Francis.”

“Hm?”

“Who were you talking to?” She asks. 

“Our son.” He says that casually as she picks at her soup and pretends it doesn't make her stomach flip flop. “He wanted to tell me about his day.” 

“Does he know-”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“At some point.” He says softly, “It’s a difficult topic, right now he just thinks you’re sick.” She nods, she imagines it would be quite difficult to tell a child their mother doesn't remember them, but Francis can't keep him in the dark forever. What’s he going to do if Mary never gets her memories back? Never let him come home? 

“It's not something you tell a little boy over the phone.” He says softly, “My mother is doing the best she can to distract him but I’m not sure how much longer he’ll let her.”

“What about your dad?” She asks and he blinks.

“Um.” He says softly, “He died.”

“Oh.” _ Oh, way to go jello brain._ “Oh, I’m so sorry…”

“It's alright, it was a couple of years ago.”

“Francis-”  
“Eat your soup.” He pushes the bowl towards her with a sad smile and it only makes her feel even worse. 

“My dad died too.” She says softly, he died on Christmas when she was a baby. Her mom used to really drink that day, she’d almost never be conscious for the Holiday, which left Mary with a lot of bad Christmases. She stopped caring as she got older, it became a weird tradition, turning her mother's head so she didn't accidentally choke on her vomit and watching Christmas movies on the couch. Francis doesn't react much to it, but he already knew.

She keeps forgetting he _knows_ her already. He probably knows about her sucky childhood because she told him about her sucky childhood, and Christmases surrounded by hard liquor, foodless Thanksgivings, she didn't hunt for eggs on Easter, she hunted pill bottles and hid them from her mom. She frowns.

“You probably know that...already…” She says softly, slumps a little. She doesn't even know what she hasn't told him, she’s probably told him everything there is to know about her. 

“I did.” he says softly and sighs, “But how about you tell me anyway.” He smiles and she straightens.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it's been a while.”


	4. Scrub-a-dub-dub

“Mary,” She hears him call for her from downstairs, his feet following after. The steady fall of his feet on the stairs and the heaviness of it tell her he’s wearing his boots. That means he’s going somewhere, which he hardly ever does. She’s beginning to think they’re hermits, she doesn't remember what the outdoors look like, they never leave. Where is he going today? Sometimes he leaves to see James for a few minutes, usually when she sleeps and he’s only gone for an hour at most. She wonders why he doesn't take her with him. 

Right, the child still doesn't know. 

“Mary.” She hears the bedroom door open and she pulls the covers over her head in an attempt to disappear, she doesn't know what time it is but considering how dark the room is, it's  _ early _ . Far too early for her to be roused from sleep just so he can tell her he’s leaving. If he says her name one more time-

“Mary.” It's softer, gentle, oh so very tender. She feels the blanket being lifted and she tightens her grip on it with a groan. “You have to get up.” He says softly. She doesn't, considering the house is not on fire therefore, nothing else would constitute her need to rise from the safe and warm cocoon of blankets. She groans again, it earns her the softest of giggles from him. Which is, honestly, the cutest thing she has ever had the privilege of hearing, but even that is not enough to make her get up. He gives the comforter a good yank and she curls in a tight ball at the sudden loss of warmth, the chill of the outside air from a cracked window envelopes her. 

“You have an appointment today,” Francis tells her, he tugs on the hem of her shirt and she turns her face in the pillow to ignore him.

“No.”

“It’s not optional.” 

“Five minutes.” She says softly, but it just sounds like noise to him, her words are muffled by the pillow and he tugs lightly on her foot now. She jerks it away with another groan, his hand is cold. 

“Up.”

“Nooooo-”

“Yeeesssss.” He mimics her whine with startling accuracy, “You can go back to sleep as soon as we get back.” She gives him another loud groan before she sits up. He smiles as he moves her hair out of her face. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Hate you.” She pouts as she rubs her eyes and she’s sure she looks like a mess. She feels like one. Her hair is tangled and greasy, she doesn't remember the last time she brushed it, let alone washed it. She doesn't even have time to wake up before he’s standing and setting a pile of neatly folded clothes on the bed. 

“No.” She says quickly when he reaches to help her, scrambling to get away. She doesn't care if they’re married or not, he’s not undressing her. 

“Mary-”

“I can do it.”

“Are you sure?” He asks and she hates,  _ hates _ the way he smirks as he says that, like he knows she’s going to end up calling him back in for help. She nods and it becomes less about the act of getting dressed and more about proving him wrong. “Alright, I’ll be right outside,” Francis says as he leaves, closing the door with a soft click. 

She stares at the clothes for maybe five minutes, a red button-down and a pair of jeans. That shouldn't be too difficult, right? The shirt goes on without much of a problem, she doesn't have to pull it on over her head. So, it just slides right over the tank top she was already wearing. The jeans are another story.

She finds herself cursing whoever invented the damn things. Her leg complains the entire time as she shoves it into the tight denim. The knee she fell on the other day is also not fond of the idea of  _ moving _ ; let alone being stuffed in the material Satan himself would not be caught dead in. She feels like it didn’t take that long, but they’re not all the way up and the act of pulling them up passed her thighs seems too difficult for her arms to do. She whines softly as she sits down on the bed, just to take a break, let her arms rest.

“Still don't need my help?” Francis’ tone is only a little mocking, mostly amused as he waits in the hall. She’s too busy recovering to answer him and maybe that’s why the doorknob starts to twist. 

“Don't come in!” It’s a loud shriek from her, she didn't know she could get her voice that loud. If she wasn't awake before, she sure is now. It gets the job done, the knob doesn't twist more and she hears him sigh heavily from behind the door. 

“I see the accident did very little damage to your lungs.” He comments dryly and if he were here, she’d smack him. “Two more minutes and I’m coming in.” He shouldn't have given her jeans if he didn't want this to take a year. It only takes a few seconds and they’re up, he’s entering as she’s buttoning them and she flops down on the mattress with a huff.

“Good job.” He smiles as he walks over with her shoes in hand. She lets him help her with that, she’s too tired to try. She flinches when he lifts her leg a bit, hissing when her knee cries out. He frowns. “Hurts, doesn't it?”

“Only a little.” She says softly as he stands, sticking her hand out for him to pull her up.

_ -/- _

She doesn't like hospitals, maybe it’s because she was stuck in one for weeks, maybe it’s because they always smell kind of weird. She swings her legs on the exam table, heels hitting the side. It’s not that she’s trying to annoy Francis, she just doesn't know what to do now. She watches him flip through papers in the leather chair by the door, a pen in hand. It doesn't look like standard hospital paperwork. 

“What’s that?” She asks, he doesn't answer right away, his voice follows the soft scrape of a pen against paper.

“Something for work.” He tells her. Oh. Right. He has a job, does she have a job? She used to work with Greer. Does she do that anymore? No one has said anything about it, so she must not. No one has said much about what she does, she must not have a job. They live in a nice house so Francis must make a lot. What does he do? She never thought to ask him. Is he being paid for all this time off? He’ll have to go back eventually, right? She’s about to ask him a million questions but then the door opens and a doctor walks in. He asks the usual questions, he makes her follow a light with her eyes, he checks her ears. It's all pretty standard, a few questions to see if she’s had any further memory loss than what she already has. Other than the normal amount of forgetfulness, she’s okay. 

“She fell down the stairs the other day.” Francis tells him, “She hurt her knee.”

“I didn't fall.”

“Really, what would you call it?” He asks with a tilt of his pretty blonde head.

“I...stumbled.”

“She fell.” He says that seriously and the doctor goes about checking her knee. He moves it around, bends her leg. He says he doesn't think it’s broken and to stay off it as much as she can.  _ More bed rest. _ If she gets any more bedrest, they might as well sedate her and put her in a coma. Francis holds her hand all the way out to the car, which is nice. His hands are soft and his fingers fit well in the spaces of her own. She hardly wants him to let go as he reaches to open her door, but he does. 

“That wasn't so bad.” He tells her as he starts the car. Maybe it wasn't but it felt unnecessary, they could have just called to get that information. Nothing has changed in terms of her memory. She still has amnesia and she hasn't remembered anything, it’s frustrating. She’s sure it’s frustrating for him to, he has to take care of someone who looks and acts like his wife, but doesn't remember ever having any contact with him. She could ask him questions about how they met, what their first date was like, their first kiss, but she’d rather  _ remember  _ those things than being  _ told  _ about them. 

“Do you think I’ll remember soon?” She asks softly and he glances over as he pulls out of the parking lot. “He said it could take weeks or even years for them to come back.”

“Maybe it won't take that long.”

“And that’s only  _ if  _ they come back…” He did say there was a chance it was permanent, that she may never remember. 

“They will.” He says softly, “It just takes time.” 

* * *

She does get to sleep when they come home, she sleeps in her jeans because she’d rather burn her own house down than try to take them off. Francis gives her her medication and sends her back to bed. The pills must be manufactured to drain whoever's taking them, of any desire to stay awake. They make her eyelids heavy and she’s almost asleep before she gets in the bed and under the covers. 

She wakes hours later to the sound of water running, she cracks her eyes open to see the bathroom door is ajar and she can see Francis in the reflection of the mirror, bending to check the water with his hand. She sits up and crosses the room, rubbing her eyes as she peers in. 

“I was just about to come and wake you.” He says without even turning around, she swears the man has eyes in the back of his head. She could make barely any noise and he’d know what she’s doing. “I thought you might like a bath.” It doesn't register to her groggy brain what that means until he makes a _ come here  _ motion with his finger and her stomach plummets. Is this because she wouldn't let him help her earlier? Oh, is this his way of getting back at her? 

No. He is not…

“Did you...um…” Did he call a friend? A female friend? Literally anyone else. She doesn't finish the question on account of his fingers finding hers and pulling her in the bathroom slowly. 

“Lola is out of town, Greer is tending to her sick daughter.” He tells her softly, “And Kenna didn't answer.” Is that everyone? Wait, Greer has a kid? She doesn't have time to dwell on that, not when everything inside her is telling her to run. 

“Can you try Kenna again?” She asks softly, pleading almost. 

“You can trust me.” He says that softly, fingers still loosely holding onto hers and yes, he has seen her naked before, but she doesn't remember that. This isn't exactly the way she imagined the first time a man undresses her to be like.  _ It’s not the first time _ , her mind reminds her. 

She doesn't remember her first time. She swallows hard as her arms go around herself, fingers anchored to her arms, nails puncturing through the fabric of her shirt and pressing into the skin underneath. 

“I...I’m uncomfortable.” She says through trembling lips because he said he wouldn't do anything that made her uncomfortable, that’s why he sleeps on the couch, that’s why he doesn't touch her that much, why he hasn't kissed her. That’s why their son hasn't come home yet. He’s very careful not to spook her too much. 

“We can wait.” He says softly but he already filled the tub and that’s a waste of water and she does really  _ really  _ want a bath. He’s waiting for an answer, she looks at the tub and then back at him. 

“No…” She says after a while, “You can…” She swallows, she’s sure her cheeks are turning pink so she tries not to look at him as she puts her arms down at her side. 

“Are you sure?” She nods and she thinks he’s reaching for her shirt but he surprises her by spinning her around so her back faces him. 

“What-”   
“Hold still.” He says softly and she feels the small tugs on her hair as he searches through the huge mess of a bun on top of her head, he gives the hair tie a small tug and her hair falls in heavy, tangled strands down her back. God, it must look awful. She doesn't remember the last time she washed it, or brushed it, or did anything with it other than tying it up. He turns her back around to start on the buttons of her shirt, the fabric meets the floor a moment later. It’s not sexy by any means, or even romantic, she’d never given it much thought. She turns into a blushing mess if she ever does. The fact is, they’ve been together for a while, they have a kid, obviously, they’ve had sex. He probably finds her shyness a little comical but she hopes he understands a little, why this would make her uncomfortable.

She didn't even notice her tank top was off until she feels her bra loosen, her hands shoot up to stop it from falling, her face will probably never turn back to its normal color. He tosses the clothes he’s already shed from her body in a hamper in the corner of the room. 

She takes a hard step back when he pops the button on her jeans and drags the zipper down. She’s using both of her hands to hold her bra up and she doesn't have anything to keep him from seeing a very intimate area. That’s a little too much to handle for her so she steps back. He follows her though, he doesn't seem at all bothered by it. He doesn't let his eyes roam over her bare skin, he undresses her. He undresses her like he probably has a million times before.

Those other times were probably done with more urgency and a lot more  _ touching _ . She’s just about to tell him to stop, that she changed her mind and can wait until someone, anyone else can come help her, but she doesn't trust her voice. She really doesn't trust it when he sinks down. She keeps her eyes on the wall because she’s not sure she’d survive having the mental image of Francis on his knees in front of her burned into her brain. 

The heat in her cheeks spread to her entire body when she feels his fingers brush the inside of her thigh. He releases one leg from its denim prison before moving onto the other. Then he rises.

“You’re looking a bit red.” He teases softly and she glares at him, this is humiliating enough, she doesn't need him cracking jokes too. To his credit, he really does his best not to look where she wouldn't want him to. Which is everywhere. 

His hands feel nice, he doesn't let his fingers linger anywhere for longer than he has to. She can do most of her body herself, it’s just hard to raise her arms and keep them up long enough to wash her hair. And moving her legs is kind of a problem too. Her entire body hurts on a regular basis but it’s bearable. 

“It's not too hot?” He asks and it takes longer than it should for her to realize he’s talking about the water. She shakes her head. If she’s honest, it's not hot enough, but she doesn't want to tell him that. He did his best. “Okay.”

“Francis.”

“Hm?” He pauses in running water over her hair to rinse it. 

“Is this weird?” She asks softly, she thinks it is but maybe he doesn't. Maybe this was a natural occurrence for them before. Maybe he liked helping her wash herself, maybe they bathe together sometimes. She makes a face at that last one, sure it sounds romantic but it also sounds kind of gross.

“No.” He tells her, “You used to make me shave your legs.” She makes another face, “When you were pregnant with James.” 

“Oh.”

“I missed a few spots a few times but I was clinging to any excuse to touch you at that point.”  _ That _ . That makes her eyes bug out of her head. “That’s not what I meant, get your head out of the gutter.”

“Not my fault you said it like that.”

“Not my fault you took it like that.” She can't see him but she’s sure he’s smiling. They’re quite a moment longer and he’s just about to move on from her hair when his phone rings loudly from downstairs. “That would be my mother, I’ll be right back.” He says softly, “Yell if you need me.” He dries his hands on a towel and exits.

_ -/- _

She’s sitting in front of the vanity dressed in what she assumes is his shirt. A black T-shirt with a faded Pink Floyd logo on the front, and a pair of shorts. She’s trying to get a brush through her very knotted and tangled hair; turns out getting it wet first doesn't make it easier. 

“Here.” Francis approaches with a smirk that turns her insides into mush as he takes the brush away, “The trick is to start at the bottom.” He says softly as he gently eases the brush through her ends, moving up when the tangles give way and he can. 

“How do you know that?” She asks, watching him in the mirror reflection.

“I have three younger sisters.” Oh, she only remembers the two. Leeza and...she doesn't remember the other one, she can picture her face but the name escapes her.

“Did they make you do their hair?”

“No, but the one was particularly interested in mine.” He smiles, “Leeza and Claude didn't want me near their hair. Margot on the other hand.”

“Margot?”   
“She’s quite a few years younger, she’s the baby of the family.” He informs her, “She’s about ten or eleven years younger.”

“Oh.” 

“My parents weren't home much, my sisters were there even less, sometimes it was just me and Margot. So.” He shrugs, that’s a little sad but it’s also sweet. 

“She probably feels like she can depend on you for anything,” Mary says softly, it's the kind of relationship she could only dream of having with her own brother. Once her father died, her mother had him shipped off to a boarding school, she didn't want to raise another woman's child. He only came back on weekends, maybe her birthday, until he didn't come back at all. The last time she saw him, to her current recollection, was New Years when she was eighteen. He used to write letters until Mary got her own phone, they used to talk as often as possible, until that stopped too. Now she’s lucky to get a Christmas card from him. Her mom is dead and she has no idea where her brother is, how depressing is that?

“When was the last time I saw James?” She asks softly, “My brother...not…” Francis knows and he seems to be thinking about it, pausing in brushing the tangles out of her hair.

“It's been a while.” He says softly, “He came to our wedding but he didn't stay long, he was here for your mother's funeral, and I think the last time was about a year ago but I’m not sure.” 

“Did we have a falling out?” She asks because she can't understand why he would be staying away, especially now that her mom is gone. She’d think he’d be around more.

“No. He’s very unreliable.” He tells her. He goes back to brushing her hair, moving onto the other side when he gets all the tangles out. “I called him the other day, I’ll keep trying until he answers, okay? Don't worry.” She smiles a small smile and just goes back to watching him brush through her hair. 

“Hey, Francis.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” She says softly, “For taking care of me…”

“Always.” He smiles as he steps, “Now, your hair is tangle-free and you haven't eaten much today so come downstairs.” He pats the top of her head before pulling her up and tugging her with him. 

* * *

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for your lovely comments. I want to respond but I never know what to say. Your feedback is very appreciated.


	5. Burn

It’s been brought to her attention that it’s been a little over one month since the accident; since her precious memories got knocked out of her head. Not much has changed in the memory department. She can remember minuscule details from her dreams, like a shirt Francis was wearing, a smell, but she doesn't really know what goes on in them. Or if they’re just dreams or memories. There’s no way of knowing. She can get dressed on her own, she even took a shower by herself the other day. She still gets headaches, but they aren't nearly as bad.  
It’s a quiet day, late afternoon melts into early evening, the sun is tucked behind big grey clouds, the rain is a slow and soft drizzle against the roof and there’s a special on tv; old Halloween movies from the thirties, black and white and more than a little cheesy. She’s not paying much attention to the antics of _Frankenstein_ though, her eyes keep drifting over to Francis.  
He’s seated at the kitchen table, a stack of papers in front of him, flipping through something, eyes cast down as they skim over words. He’s wearing a black sweater that looks too good on him, it hugs him in all the right places, it looks soft and cozy and she kind of wants to steal it from him. It probably looks just as good off- _Stop, that’s weird._ Is it weird though? They’re married, certainly she’s allowed to think about him like that, right?

__No, he’s practically a stranger, it’s weird, Mary.__ Maybe it’s a little weird, he did see her naked the other day though, so.  
She should stop staring, he’s going to notice and then it’ll be awkward. She’ll have to make something up like...she just wanted to ask for some water or something and he’ll do that stupid smirk thing that makes her stomach flip over itself because he __knows__ that’s not why she was staring at him. He looks tired and stressed but focused, she has yet to ask him what he does for a living. She overheard him on the phone earlier talking about the logistics of issuing a subpoena, so she supposes it's something in the legal department. He’s probably a lawyer, that would explain the house and her not working. 

He probably looks good in a sui- __Stop.__

His focused look goes from mild confusion to __Oh no__, in a flash and then he’s standing and she turns her attention back to the tv so he doesn't catch her staring like a creep. She hears him dial a number, sighs when they don't answer and then she hears the sound of his keys being pulled off the hook.

“Mary,” She tilts her head like she hasn't been watching him for the last five minutes and feigns the perfect look of innocence as he walks over. 

“Hm?”  
“I have to go take care of something.” He tells her and she frowns because that means he’s leaving and she doesn't really like it when he leaves. “You’ll be alright?”

“Um. Yeah.” She says softly, “I’ll probably just sit here…” 

“It shouldn't take too long.”

“Okay.” She smiles a small smile, “Hurry back.” He smiles back as he pulls his jacket on but then he does something she wasn't expecting. He leans down and presses the softest of kisses on her cheek, a soft “__Love you,__” leaving his lips and then he’s gone and she’s left there blushing like a teenager. He probably didn't even think about it, it was probably just done out of habit, he probably forgot for one second that Mary has no recollection of their married life. It was a small kiss and quick, there was barely any contact, and yet her face feels like it’s on fire, like someone doused it in gasoline and lit a match. 

Her stomach is all flip-floppy.

Her chest is all aflutter.

Oh, she’s got it __bad.__ She has a crush, a crush on her husband, does that make any sense? She needs to calm down, it's not that big a deal, he kissed her cheek. So? Lots of husbands kiss their wives.

She’s torn away from her thoughts when her stomach growls and a few seconds of freak out later, she’s in the kitchen looking for something to eat. There isn't much, just some microwave meals and leftovers. She’s guessing neither one of them are the cooks in this relationship, poor James. She frowns, shoving some condiments aside in the fridge and almost crying tears of joy when she finds a packet of cookie dough. She holds it in her hands, drumming her fingers on the cool surface. Would it really be that bad if she made them? There isn't much else…

Yeah. Yeah, she should. 

Lucky for her Francis did show her where they kept the cooking things, pots and pans are under the sink, baking utensils are kept in the compartment under the stove. She preheats the oven, spreads the dough out on a baking sheet, and pops them in the oven before going back to the couch to wait. 

She doesn't mean to fall asleep.

_ _-/-_ _

_ Bash, Bash is great, if he doesn't have to comfort you. The man is a mixture of panic and confusion when he answers the door to find a sobbing Mary behind it. _

_ “Francis, isn't here right now, can I take a message?” He asks softly with a quirk of his brow and she chokes out something unintelligible before he pulls her inside. “Uh..” He steers her towards the tiny dining table with the mismatched chairs and sits her down in one. Her mom started drinking again, a fight ensued and she was slapped. In all her years of abusing drugs and alcohol, her mother has never hit her before, ever, it was so shocking. She didn't even grab anything before running out, she swears she can still feel the sting of her hand hitting her cheek. _   
_ “Mary, what happened to your cheek?” Bash asks softly, turning her chin to get a better look but she doesn't answer, just cries some more. He puts a pack of frozen peas in a washcloth and hands it to her, she presses it to her cheek with a sniffle, watching as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and walks over to the counter. _

_ “Where are you?” He asks and there’s a pause, she can barely hear the voice on the other end but she can hear enough to know it’s Francis. Bash listens as he pulls a bowl down from the cabinet and scoops some ice cream into it. She looks around the apartment while Bash talks to Francis. It’s kind of messy, pretty cramped. It’s almost too small for them, but it was either this or a ridiculously expensive dorm room. She’s only been here twice before and never for long. _

_ “I don't speak sob, Francis,” Bash says dryly as he sets the bowl of ice cream in front of her with a small smile. “She has a bruise on her cheek.” He tells him and promptly moves the phone away from his ear and she hears a loud, what?! Blast through the speaker. The pause is longer and she picks at her ice cream, she’s too nauseous to eat it. Bash is just doing his best to make her feel better so she does spoon a few bites into her mouth as tears stream down her face. Bash has hung up now and is back to sitting next to her. _

_ “Is he coming?” _

_ “He said he’ll be here as soon as he can.” _   
_ “Okay.” She sniffles. _

_ “If you keep picking at it, it’ll be liquid before you can eat it.” He says, poking her bowl. _

_ “Sorry.” _

_ “It's okay.” He says softly, “You want to tell me where you got that bruise?” She shakes her head, adjusting her homemade ice pack on her cheek. “I can call Kenna if you want.” He offers, she shakes her head to that too, she doesn't need her friends freaking out over it. And knowing Kenna, she’d go share a few words with her mom and she doesn't need that. She probably won't even remember hitting her. She’s sure Bash would understand if she told him, his mother wasn't the best either. She left him to be put under Catherine's reluctant care for a long time since Henry isn't around much, it was up to Catherine to make sure he was raised decently. That's why he and Francis are so close, they took care of each other. They just sit in silence and eventually she pushes her bowl of uneaten ice cream towards Bash, he puts it in the sink and then the door opens. _

_ She sets the pack of peas down on the table and launches herself into his arms, tucking her face in the crook of his neck like a child. _

_ “You’re alright,” Francis says soothingly, hand stroking her hair and the other wraps around her back tightly, he presses a soft kiss to the top of her head and whispers a thank you to Bash. _

_ “If you want to stay over, Mary, my room is open.” _

_ “Bash,” Francis says, there’s a bit of an edge to that and she can't see his face but she can almost hear Bash roll his eyes. _   
_ “I won't be here, dumbass.” He says, “I wouldn't offer to share a bed with your girlfriend.” He pauses, “In front of you.” He adds before ducking in the bathroom, whatever Francis threw at him hit the door with a loud thud. Mary laughs softly in his neck. _

_ “I got her to laugh!” Bash yelled over the sound of running water, “You’re welcome!” _   
_ “Shut up!” Francis yells back as Mary pulls away. He rolls his eyes at the laughter coming from the bathroom as he cups her face. He strokes her newly acquired bruise with his thumb before tugging her to his room and making her sit on the bed. It’s just a mattress on the floor, a lamp resting on a stack of old textbooks, a bookshelf, and a dresser. It’s as plain as plain can get, the embodiment of a struggling law student. “Stay.” He says softly before he leaves, coming back with a box of tissues. _

_ “Sorry about my brother, he’s a bit annoying.” He tells her as he wipes her tears away, “What happened?” _   
_ “My mom is drinking again and when I confronted her about it...she…” She swallows, gesturing to her face. _

_ “She hit you?” She nods, “Mary-” _   
_ “She’s never done it before.” She cries as he pulls her to his chest, let's her cry against him. “I don't know what I did-” _   
_ “You didn't do anything, it's not your fault.”_

_ “She was doing so good…” She cries, her mother was sober for almost a year, which is the longest she had gone without drinking or popping pills. Mary doesn't know if she’s gotten to the pills yet, she’d have to find them first but it won't be long. _

_ “Okay, you’re not going home.” He tells her after a while, after she’s all cried out, all puffy and red-rimmed eyes look at him in confusion as he stands and walks over to his dresser. He pulls out an old sweat-shirt and tosses it at her. The bathroom is still warm and steamy from Bash’s shower but he’s long gone now and she changes quickly, tries to ignore the nervous knots in her stomach and the way her heart hammers in her chest. She’s never stayed over before, she’s only been here twice, and she’s never worn his clothes. The sweat-shirt smells like him, which is nice, but the material inside is kind of scratchy and he forgot to give her pants. Or at least shorts, so her legs are completely bare and she has to not make eye contact when she walks back in his room. _   
_ He blinks as his eyes skim over her bare skin and she blushes as he pulls her back on the bed with him. _

_ “Comfy?” He asks when the light is flicked off and he’s pulled the blanket around her. She nods as he climbs in beside her, his arm slung over her waist. _

_ “Francis?” _

_ “Hm?” He questions but she doesn't say anything, she just turns her head to kiss him. It’s soft at first but steadily begins to grow until they’re gasping. _

_ -/- _

The scream on the television wakes her up and she utters a shriek of her own when she finds black smoke pouring out of the kitchen, the oven alarm still going off. 

“Oh no!” She whines as she runs in the kitchen, yanking open the oven door, waving the smoke out of her face in vain, she inhales it anyway as she blindly grabs a dishtowel and searches for the pan. As she pulls it out, her wrist gets caught on an oven rack and she pulls back with a yelp, her wrist crying out as blackened cookies and a pan hit the floor with a loud crash. 

“Mary!?” The screen door slams and she can barely see Francis through the smoke, can't answer him because she’s coughing too much. He closes the oven as she coughs out a slew of sorrys, stepping back as he throws open the windows. “What happened?” He asks as he grabs her wrist and starts leading her away from the smoky kitchen. 

“__Ow!__” She shouts as she yanked her burned wrist out of his grasp with a hiss. He lets go of her but leads her to the bathroom, where he sits her on the edge of the bathtub. 

“I’m sorry,” She cries, “I fell asleep and-” She watches him sift through the medicine cabinet and then in a drawer by the sink before he turns back to her. 

“Stay.” He tells her before exiting and something about that sounds familiar but she doesn't have time to dwell on it, because he comes back with a container and a box of bandaids. “I forgot,” He says softly as he kneels down in front of her, “We had to hide the bandages because James went through this phase where he thought they were, “__Stickers you could draw on,__” He wasn't completely wrong.” He reaches for her arm, pulling it in his lap before unscrewing the ointment he sat next to him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Hold still.” He says as he scoops a little out with his finger, “This will sting a bit, okay?” She nods and then sucks in a breath when he starts gently spreading it on her burn. It’s long, bright red and puffy, it only seems to be getting hotter and hotter despite only coming into contact with the oven rack for a second. “Better?” He asks, looking up at her, it feels a little better, so she nods.  
“I’m-”

“If you apologize one more damn time, I’m going to lose it.” He tells her

“Sor-”  
“No.”

“I’m s-”

“Mary.”

“S-”

“Stop it.” The corners of his mouth tilt up and she swallows her apologies as she watches him. He doesn't let go of her arm as he grabs a bandage, holding it up to her burn to make sure it’s big enough to cover it and proceeds to do the hottest thing she has ever seen. He rips it open, __with his teeth. __

She’s glad he isn't looking at her right now, she can't even imagine what her face must look like right now. He smooths the fabric down before standing up, tossing the wrapping in the trash and putting the burn ointment away before turning back to her. 

They go outside to wait for the smoke in the kitchen to clear up. It stopped raining a while ago and she sits next to him on the porch steps, the sky darkening, and the crickets sounding. 

“You’re not mad at me for almost burning your house down?” She asks softly, still nursing her arm.

“__Our__ house.” He corrects softly, “And no. It’s not the first time, you’re no Gordon Ramsey.” He smirks and she frowns, “Do you want to hear a story?” He asks.

“Sure.”

“It was when you were pregnant with James, you had just found out.” He explains, “And you wanted to surprise me so you had this whole evening planned, dinner, wine, candles.” It’s weird hearing him talk about something she did, something he remembers her doing when she can't even remember __him__. She listens though, “I don't know what you were trying to make but it ended with me coming home to a firetruck in our driveway and you crying on the steps.”

“How bad was it?”

“You ever notice the wallpaper behind the stove doesn't match the rest of the kitchen?” He asks with a smile and she gasps. Oh, she knows she’s not a good cook, but actually catching her kitchen on fire is not something she thought she’d do. He’s laughing now, “It wasn't as bad as you think, really, I’m rather fond of the-” He stops abruptly and his face changes and it’s like he’s realized something. She isn't far behind him, she feels the mood darken as the dread settles in her stomach. He remembers. Even something as embarrassing as almost burning their house down, after that, she told him they were having a baby. He gets to remember that. He gets to look back and smile and laugh and she can only hope to remember one day. The laughter dies down and she frowns as she looks down at her hands. 

“Mary.” He says softly, “Hey-”

“You know, I’m pretty tired. I think I should go to bed.” She says quickly jerking away when he reaches, doesn't look back as she goes inside and up the stairs. 

She just wants to remember something, anything. The desperation bubbles up in her chest, it threatens to drown her and she presses a pillow to her face as she tries to remember how to breathe. It’s not fair that he gets to remember all the good times and bad times, all the dates and all the fights, all the I love you’s. The first time they kissed, their first date- her first date __ever__, did they ever break up? Was there a time she couldn't stand to be near him before they inevitably fixed it? She wants to know. She just wants it all to come back, to come flooding back in her head. She wants to wake up tomorrow and know him, to know their child, to not have to wonder what his skin feels like on hers, or his lips. 

“Mary.” Francis enters the room slowly, “Are you okay?” She gives a hard shake of her head, doesn't look at him, “It’ll come back.” She swallows, doesn't say anything and he approaches slowly. There’s something about his face, his expression that she can't put her finger on. 

“I made you some tea.” He says and it changes back to normal in a flash, “I know it...it probably won't help with whatever you’re feeling right now but-”

“Thank you.” She smiles a small smile, wipes at her eyes and then reaches. Francis sits on the edge of the bed. 

“Careful, you don't need any more burns.” He jokes softly, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. She cups the mug, “You’ll remember.”

“You don't know that.”

“No, but I can hope.” He says as he offers her a small smile. They’ve never talked about what would happen if it doesn't come back, on the off chance that this is permanent. He’ll have to reintroduce her to everyone in their lives, including their kid. “There is something I have to tell you.”

“What?”

“Um.” He sighs, “My mother has decided she’s bringing James home in a few days.” He tells her slowly, “I tried to get her to let me talk to him first but she isn't giving me the luxury of preparing him…” He shrugs, “We’ll just have to hope he understands. I don't know how he’ll react to you not remembering him.” 

“A few days…”

“Yes.” He says softly, “The day after tomorrow.” She’s not ready for that. What if he’s angry? What if he hates her? Oh, she’s going to make her own child hate her, there’s no way- 

“It’s okay.” Francis says quickly, sensing the oncoming panic, “If it's too much…” He shakes his head, even he doesn't know what he would do if it ends up being too much for both James and Mary. “You just let me take care of it, okay? He’s a smart kid.” A smart kid, but still a kid, a child who misses his mother, who thinks he’s coming home to his mother, only to come home to someone who looks like her but isn't.

God, this’ll be a mess.


	6. James

She’s half asleep when she hears it, the familiar thud of Francis’ boots on hardwood and the less familiar fall of lighter feet next to his. The door opens with a small push and it stops.

“See?” His voice is barely above a whisper, “Alive and well.”

“Can we wake her?” The little voice follows, it’s less of a whisper, more like a plea. 

“No, let her sleep.” Francis says softly, “Remember what I told you?” Their voices fade down the hall and eventually down the stairs and she pops her eyes open. So, James is here right now and she slept through it. Francis must have found time to talk to him about their situation too, maybe that’s why he didn't wake her when he was dropped off. She rubs her eyes as she sits up and she waits a little too long at the edge of the bed before getting up. She can hear them in the kitchen and the knot in her stomach tightens making her halt in her movement. She just stands in the living room, unsure of whether to go further or not. 

“Did you have fun with your grandma?” Francis is asking over the soft clink of pots and pans. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He says, “I know you were upset about being there for so long and I’m sorry about that.”

“S’okay.” There’s a small pause before he asks, “Can we put chocolate in them?”

“ _ Chocolate? _ ” The small laugh in his voice makes her smile, “For breakfast?”

“Please?”

“Only a little.” 

“Fine.” He concedes and it’s quiet for a little bit. Mary quietly peeks in from the archway, hidden from view. Francis is at the stove, has successfully stopped James from pouring an entire bag of chocolate chips in the bowl as he stirs. The little boy is sitting on the counter, swinging his legs, the backs of his shoes hit the side in small thuds. 

“Do you think she’s awake now?” He asks. 

“I don't know, maybe,” Francis says softly as he pours some batter in the pan and his eyes flick up to find hers. She gives a panicked shake of her head and he looks away, “She’ll come find us when she’s ready.”

“When she smells the pancakes.” Francis doesn't say anything, he just smiles a small smile and continues cooking. Honestly, she can't hide behind the wall forever, she has to come out. She just has to rip off the bandaid, how hard can it be? How bad could it possibly get? He’s a kid. People interact with kids every single day. She rounds the corner slowly, tries not to make a sound as she enters. 

“Hi.” She says softly after just standing there for a few too many seconds, both their heads shoot up to look at her. 

“Mommy!” it's an excited shout as he jumps down from the counter and runs over, he stops short, looking over at Francis and then back at her like he’s unsure of something. “Can I hug you?” The question is as sweet as it is heartbreaking and she nods.

“Yeah.” She breathes before crouching down, he doesn't waste any time wrapping his arms around her neck, careful not to squeeze too hard. 

“James, careful,” Francis warns.

“No, it's okay.” James pulls back and she smiles, she just wants to look at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He has her long lashes, but the same blue eyes as Francis, he probably got the curls from him too, but it's dark instead of blonde, she thinks he has her nose. He might be tall like Francis too.

He really is a perfect blend. Now would be a great time for her memories to flood back in her brain, she really wants to remember every moment she’s had with him. She maybe stares a little too long, but he doesn't seem to mind as he wraps his fingers around her own.

“Do you wanna help?” He asks.

“Can I?” He tugs her over without even answering, plopping her next to Francis before climbing back on the counter.

_ -/- _

It's one of the instances she finds herself outside. It’s chilly, but not too cold and the ground is still soft from all the rain. She was kicking a ball around with James, which was fun but now they’re sitting at the swingset, his little legs dangling off the seat. The sun is starting to set now and she’s sure Francis will be out shortly to retrieve them. 

“Daddy said you hit your head really hard,” James says softly.

“I did.”

“How?” A car accident is what she was told but she doesn't remember.

“I wasn't paying attention.”

“Did it hurt?”

“I don't know, I don't remember. It hurt when I woke up.” She tells him with a shrug, doesn't hurt much now. She still gets headaches, but to her displeasure, the doctor did say those could be permanent. She could be susceptible to frequent headaches that fluctuate from mild to severe either for several months after the injury, several years, or if it was bad enough; the rest of her life. Which is just a lovely thing to tell someone after they get diagnosed with amnesia, who already has a slew of other injuries. 

“Does it hurt now?”

“No.” She says softly, she fidgets with her rings and just watches James swing his legs. He doesn't ask any more questions about her skull, instead they talk about school and he tells her about his teachers. Mary drums her fingers on the hardwood of the swingset. It doesn't look like a store-bought set, it looks like it was made. It looks like someone built it. 

Did Francis build it? She’ll have to ask him. 

Both their heads snap up when they hear the back door slide open and Francis walks out. He tells them it’s close to dinner time and he sends James inside to clean up. 

“Are you okay?” He asks once he’s out of earshot, “Is he asking a lot of questions?” She shrugs as she sits on the swing, running her hand over the chain. 

“Yeah, but it's okay.” She says softly, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Francis, what are you going to do if I’m not?” She asks, “Lock him in a closet?”

“Mary-”

“Lock  _ me  _ in a closet?” She gasps, “Is that how we solve conflicts?” She’s mostly joking, though she would love to know what he would do. She has to be okay, there’s no other option. He can't send James back to his mothers’, the boy won't go. She sighs as she runs a hand through her hair, he still looks concerned but his expression has softened a bit. 

“I don't know.” He says softly, “I don't want to upset either one of you. Just tell me if it's too much, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Let's go inside before he notices we didn't follow.”

“Hey Francis,” she says as he turns away, he turns back to her with a quirk of his brow. 

“Yeah?”

“Where did we get this?” She asks and he shrugs.

“Um.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I made it?”

“You...built this?”

“Mhm.” He looks like he’d rather not discuss it, the fact that he built this for their kid. She just gapes at him. Is there anything he can't do? He cooks, he cleans, he takes such good care of her, he’s obviously the provider. She really struck gold, didn't she? What does she do?   
She doesn't deserve him. 

She suddenly has an urge to inspect every piece of furniture in the house. What else did he build? 

“Did you build anything else?” She’s asking him as she follows him up the stone path to the door, but he just laughs and doesn't answer the question. “Did you build our house?”

“No.” He says, “Do you know how much work goes into building a house?” He asks as he holds the door open for her.

“No.” She frowns, “Do  _ you _ ?” Does he know because he used to build them? She finds the fact that he builds things as a hobby very invigorating and she wants to know more, desperately. It's not only sweet but he can pass it down to James if he wanted. He can make him things he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life. Not a lot of fathers put in that much effort for their kids. 

Also, it’s kind of sexy, but she’s not telling him that.

“Talk later.” He says with a pat on her head before steering her towards the kitchen. 

Their talk never comes though, because after dinner James ropes them into watching a movie with him on the couch. The little boy wedged between them, eyes fluttering closed towards the end, head resting on Mary’s chest. 

“James,” Francis says softly as he turns off the tv and flicks on a light. “Jaaaammmeess.” He tugs on the hem of his shirt and James groans softly, scrunching up his nose the same way Mary does. It makes her smile, running her fingers through his soft curls. Once he is awake, he doesn't let go of Mary's hand as he leads her to his bedroom. 

The room is downstairs, which she thinks is a little weird. It's small, the walls are a pale blue and it has the same wood floor as the rest of the house, there’s a few dinosaur plushies on some shelves and a small bookcase by the door. There are sticky stars on the ceiling that glow in the dark. Five-year-olds don't need that much, she supposes. He introduces her to his favorite bear, a white polar bear, that she gave him as a baby. He’s missing an eye, and he has stitching, looks like part of his ear might be missing. She fidgets with its ear as it sits in her lap. She saw a picture a few days ago of this exact bear next to a newborn. She rolls the soft fabric between her fingers, wills herself to remember, hopes desperately that something will come back.  _ Maybe holding it will help, _ but it doesn't, all she feels is a sense of familiarity. Everything else is blank. Francis does show up in the doorway to remind him it's past his bedtime and since Mary can't say no to him, she closes the door and turns off the light and she lies in bed. 

He tells her about the time he spent with Catherine, he tells her how Aunt Kenna and Uncle Bash took him to the park and then to get ice cream twice in one week. He pointed up at the ceiling at the glow in the dark sticky stars. 

She didn't know it was possible to love something this much. 

As he falls asleep, he says something, he asks a question that almost threatens to send her over the edge.    
“Do you remember me yet?”

“Not yet.” She whispers.

“Soon?”

“I hope.” She says softly as she tucks the blanket around him and walks out into the living room. She tries to be quiet as she closes the door, Francis is reading, but of course. He hears it.

“Is he asleep?” He asks without looking up and she swallows the lump in her throat. She doesn't answer him, she can't, she can hardly breathe as she fidgets with her rings. Maybe that’s what makes him look up, that’s what makes his expression change. He straightens, she’s heading for the door as he’s wedging a bookmark in his book. 

She just needs  _ air _ , she can't  _ breathe _ . It feels like someone is standing on her chest, stomach on her stomach; like she’s choking. This isn't fair, it's not. 

“Mary.” Francis is out on the porch with her shortly after she broke through the door, he has a blanket. Right, she doesn't have anything to fend off the cold. She hardly cares about that right now as her eyes fill with tears and her chest tightens and tightens. 

“I…” She chokes, “He’s so sweet.” She tells him, she tells him like he doesn't know that already, like he isn't his father, like he didn't raise him. He’s so sweet and good and she doesn't remember him. She doesn't remember getting pregnant, she doesn't remember having him, or birthdays or Christmases. “I want to remember…” She can't breathe and she smacks his hands away when he reaches, she’s too overwhelmed. 

“Mary-” 

“It's not fair.”

“I know-”

“I hate this.” She’s pacing, pulling at her hair, gasping for air and Francis just looks  _ gutted _ as he tries again to reach for her. She can't breathe, she can't breathe and it feels like the world is caving in. 

“Mary, please…” He pleads softly, reaching again, “You’re having a panic attack.” 

“It's not fair!” That’s a shriek and he pulls her in without warning, draws her in tight. Smooths her back, her hair, really anywhere in reach. 

“I’m so sorry…” She barely hears it and if she wasn't so caught up in trying to breathe, she’d ask what he meant by that. She squeezes her eyes shut, let's him hold her while she cries until she shivers from the cold and he pulls her back inside.

-/-

“Just a minor panic attack,” Francis says softly, soothingly, once it's over. Her head is resting in his lap, something that would make her blush but she feels too sick right now to really focus on it. He’s combing his fingers through her hair, which feels nice. “Nothing we can't handle, hm?” She’s still sniffling a little, and her chest still hurts but she’s mostly over it by now. She swallows the remnants of the lump in her throat and shifts to get more comfortable. Francis continues running his fingers through her hair as he reaches for his book. 

“What are you reading?” She asks, voice still hoarse.

“ _ The Handmaid’s Tale. _ ” He says and she makes a face. It sounds familiar. 

“Can you read it to me?”

“Are you sure?” He asks, “It's pretty dark.” She doesn't care, she wants to hear his voice, she likes it. She won't remember in the morning anyway, so she nods. “I can start from the begi-”

“Wherever you left off is fine.” She says softly and he shifts, pulling the blanket up tighter around her before sighing.

“Alright.” He says softly, and then he starts, “ _ I once had a garden. I can remember the smell of the turned earth, the plump shape of bulbs held in hands, the dry rustle of seeds through fingers. Time could pass more swiftly that way. Sometimes the commander's wife has a chair brought out and just sits in it, in her garden. From a distance, it looks like peace…”  _ He reads softly and she listens partly, he pauses on occasion to ask if she’s listening and she’d nod. She usually isn't, she’s too busy wondering if this was a natural occurrence between them. If before her memories got shoved out of her brain, they’d lie like this. Her head in his lap, his fingers raking through her hair gently, and he’d read to her. Has she fallen asleep to the softness of his voice before, to the sound of crickets outside? When the rest of the world is quiet, did they do this?

It feels familiar, it feels intimate. 


	7. Cooking Lessons

She finds she quite likes being a mother, she has something to do now other than staring at Francis and getting flustered when he catches her. Sometimes she forgets though that she is his mother. Francis has to remind her she’s allowed to discipline if need be, she hasn't needed to.   
Last night when Francis was putting him to bed, he kissed him goodnight and the boy said, “What about mommy?” And Mary had a god damn heart attack when Francis walked over to her. She thought he was going for the lips but he wasn't, he just kissed her cheek and then her forehead, and then her other cheek. She thinks he likes seeing her face turn one hundred and twenty shades of pink, he pulled back with an amused grin and she had to excuse herself from the situation until the nervous knots in her stomach loosened.    
She thinks he’s decided to mess with her now that she’s mostly healed. If he catches her looking at him, he looks back until she looks away. The other day he  _ accidentally  _ brushed the inside of her thigh, she was wearing shorts, the skin on skin almost killed her. She doesn't think it was an accident. There have been little touches here and there, the small brush of his fingers on her arm, his hand pressed into the small of her back, the other day he lightly grabbed her hips to move her out of the way of something. His touches linger just a little bit longer than usual and she knows he knows what he’s doing to her. 

The man enjoys it. It’s like a fun game to him, “ _ how much can I make my wife blush today? _ ” Says Francis every morning while he gets dressed, probably. 

The chill is what wakes her, the room has taken on the temperature outside. There’s a slight breeze coming in from a small crack in the window. She pulls the comforter up to her nose with a groan, stretching her legs underneath to find a warm spot. Her eyes pop open and her heart propels itself into her throat when her feet hit a warm body. 

_ Oh, he wouldn't.  _ He actually might. It’s his bed too and it’s freezing, maybe he didn't realize what he was doing until he was doing it. 

“Francis?” She questions softly, her voice still heavy from sleep, she squints in the dark and upon closer inspection, she finds the body belongs to someone smaller than Francis. “Oh thank god.” She breathes when she pulls the comforter back to find James curled under it. She scoots a little closer. 

“James.” She says sweetly, “Jammmes.” She tugs on the sleeve of his pajamas, he doesn't wake, but he does stir. He curls up at her side and she lies back, pulling the blanket tighter around both of them. She falls back asleep.

“Mama.” There’s a small voice in her ear what feels like a few minutes later, “Mommy.” He tugs lightly on her earlobe and she groans, scrunching up her nose as she turns her face in the pillow. He says it again, “Mommmm.” Oh, right, she’s mom. She isn't used to being called that. 

“James.” She drags the whine out, it’s too early. Is the sun even up yet? Where is Francis when she needs him?

“Are you mad at daddy?” That's a random question. She turns her head to look at him, cracking her eyes open with a soft,  _ what? _ “He sleeps on the couch when you’re mad at him.” He tells her matter of factly, like he’s reminding her. 

“Does he?” She questions, “Hm.” She shakes her head though, she isn't mad at him. “No, we’re good.”

“Then why doesn't he sleep with you?” Oh, sweet, precious child it is too early for an interrogation. She shrugs. 

“I...uh…” She struggles for an answer so she goes with the next best thing, “Why don't you ask him?” Yes, she did just use the ‘go ask your dad’ cop-out. No, she is not ashamed. Speaking of, Francis chooses now to enter. 

“James, there you are.” He says with a sigh, he frowns when he sees she’s awake too, “What did I tell you about waking her?”

“No, it's okay.” She says quickly, hands finding James’ curls. “We were just having a chat.”

“Why don't you sleep with mommy?”

“I didn't mean ask him nooowww!” She squeaks, ducking under the covers so she can't see Francis’ face. 

“Uuuuh.” He seems to be thinking, “Go get dressed, it's almost time to leave for school.” Is his answer. 

“Can I stay home?”

“You stayed home yesterday.” He tells him she peeks out of the covers to see James. Oh, the pouty lips and the big sad eyes almost make her want to plead his case. Maybe that’s what Francis was talking about when he said she was a little too lenient. She’s using so much restraint right now.

“Please?”

“James.” He says his name in that typical dad voice, he’s not budging on the issue, and if she wasn't so shy about it, she’d yank him into bed right now. James mutters his defeat and climbs out of bed, padding down the hall. “She will be here when you come home, I promise,” Francis tells him. She doesn't even hear him approach her, she does feel the comforter being gently tugged on. 

“You can come out now.” He teases softly and she brings the heavy material down slowly. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“James wasn't supposed to actually ask that.” She tells him, she doesn't know why she tells him, she’s sure he wasn't intending on bringing it up. 

“It's not the weirdest question he’s asked.” He says and she’s confused, something about the way he’s looking at her makes her think. James is curious, he apparently likes to venture to their room in the middle of the night, climb in- oh.  _ Ooooohhh. _ Ah, there it is, the first blush of the day.

“Do we not lock the door?” She squeaks as she pulls the comforter back over her head. 

“It's only happened a few times.”

“A  _ few  _ times.” 

“Like four.” He says, “Quite a few close calls.” Oh my god. He tugs on the blanket again but she doesn't emerge from it. “It wouldn't have happened if you had been quiet.” 

“Stoooopp.” She whines loudly.   
“Like that only with  _ don't  _ in front of it.” She married the male version of Kenna, that’s the only thing she allows herself to think about right now. She cannot let herself imagine her legs wrapped around him, and sweat, and tangled sheets.

“Please.” She says softly and she’s glad she can't see his face.

“You’re making this too easy.” He smirks, but he doesn't tease any further, she may never come out if he does. He waits a little bit before tugging on the blanket again. She finally comes out with a small pout. 

“No more jokes.”

“Sure.” He smiles, “I have to drop off James and then I’m going to my office to pick up some things. Will you be okay by yourself for a little while?” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and nods.

“No cooking.”

“Not with the stove.” He jokes as he gets up, but she straightens.

“Wait.”

“Hm?” He quirks a brow as he turns back to her. She twists her rings around her finger.

“Would it...be too much trouble if I come with you?” She asks, she hasn't left the house in what feels like forever. Other than a few appointments, she’s going a bit stir crazy. 

“Can you get dressed in five minutes?”

_ -/- _

“Be good today,” Francis says as James climbs out of the car and heads for the large glass doors of the school's entrance, he turns to wave at them, his backpack is almost too big for his small body. 

“We don't go in with him?” She asks, peering over Francis’ shoulder, watching her kid disappear inside the large building with a slight frown. “What if he gets lost?”

“His teachers wait for him.” He explains as he pulls away, “He’s fine.” She sits back and turns her attention out the window and watches the buildings pass by. The place he works isn't far from the school, which is nice. Before she realizes it, he’s parking the car and unbuckling his seat belt. 

“Do you want to come in or wait?” She wants to come in, she’s very curious to see where he works. 

He holds her hand the whole way, it kicks the butterflies in her stomach to her throat. He only let's go when they stop at the door to fish his keys out of his pocket. It's not a big office, but it's nice. There are pictures of her and James on the desk, a bookcase resting against the wall behind it, two leather chairs by the large window that overlooks the road. She watches him unlock a filing cabinet and start sifting through it while she just stands there awkwardly. 

He makes a face when the phone on his desk starts to ring and answers it a few seconds later. She doesn't bother listening to the conversation, it's all terms she doesn't understand but she does hear the heavy sigh, the “That's not my job,” and the rolls of his eyes in a way that makes her giggle. 

“I will be right back.” He says softly, “You sit here and look pretty until I return.” He gently pushes her in one of the leather chairs by the window, “Don't move, don't go anywhere.” She nods and then he leaves. 

She watches the cars pass by on the busy street below for a while, eyes going to the clock on the wall. It's been a few minutes now and he hasn't come back. She knows he didn't want her to move but she needs a bathroom. She peeks out in the hall, she sees one towards the end, across from a printer if she’s quick she could be back before him. 

She does not make it back before him, she goes to turn in his office and gets caught off guard by the voices inside. He sounds angry, she’s never heard him like that before and there’s another voice, who sounds calmer but there’s a slight edge to it. It belongs to a woman, she peeks in the crack in the door. She’s very pretty, her blonde hair reaches down her back, it falls in light waves. She’s in a tight blouse and the paleness of her long legs contrast with the dark material of the black pencil skirt. This isn't a conversation meant for her ears, she should look away, but she can't.   
They’re locked in a heated discussion over something, she can't hear much of their hushed voices but she hears her own name a few times. 

“Francis, she doesn't remember you, you could leave tomorrow and it wouldn't make a difference.” The woman says and she frowns as she tore her eyes away, leans her back against the wall. 

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” She hears him say, he sounds frustrated, fed up, exhausted. “Olivia, I don't know what you think happened-”   
“I know that someone who was willing to put her own life in danger just to be away from you isn't worth being with. What if she had your son in the car, Francis? Do they even make caskets that small?” Mary gasps at that and she puts her hands over her ears because she can't bear the thought of hearing the rest. She doesn't want to think about that. Why would she even-

Why would she say that about someone's child? And who the hell does she think she is, telling Francis he can leave her if he wants? 

She waits in the bathroom, giving them ten minutes to sort whatever that was out and her stomach twists when she finds his office empty. She stays seated in the chair this time and doesn't move until she hears his footsteps. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her, crossing the room quickly.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He smiles, “Where did you go?” She doesn't answer, just smiles a small smile as he takes her hand and leads her back out in the hall. 

She wants to ask a million questions as he gets in the car next to her, and a million more when he starts the engine, more when he pulls out of the lot, and when the trees zoom by out the window. He doesn't even know that she heard a bit of the argument he was having with that pretty blonde. She swallows, rests her head on the window and ends up falling asleep.

_ -/- _

_ Her blood still boils when she thinks about him; when she sees his name occasionally pop up on her caller I.D. The fact that he’s still trying so hard to get a hold of her is baffling. He should learn to take a hint.  _ _   
_ _ She’s just about to bite into a turkey sandwich, a football game on TV serves as background noise, she jumps at the sound of someone knocking on her door. First of all, it's a Holiday, who is out right now? Second, why come here? She sets her food back on the plate and gets up with a soft groan.  _

_ “Are you kidding me?” She asks when she sees him, tries to shut the door in his face but he catches it with his foot. _

_ “Wait, wait!” Francis pleads, “I just brought you-” _ _   
_ _ “I don't care what you brought me, my mom can't even have alcohol in the house!” She exclaims, gesturing at the bottle he’s holding.  _

_ “It's non-alcoholic.” _

_ “I don't care!” _

_ “Mary-” _ _   
_ _ “Go away. I don't want to see you.” She tries again to close the door, but he stops it, this time his face changes. He’s halfway inside, can clearly see she’s alone.  _

_ “Where is everyone?” He asks, great. “Are you alone?” She doesn't have a dad, her brother is...somewhere, her mother is probably at a bar. So, yes, she is alone. She doesn't really do holidays, she never has. She hates the look he’s giving her, she’s had enough pitiful looks too last a lifetime, she just wants to sit and eat her sandwich in peace.  _

_ “I uh...we don't do all that extra Thanksgiving stuff here.” She shrugs, or Christmas, New Years, any other holiday. “So uh...take your nonalcoholic sparkling grape juice and leave me alone.” She smiles, she tries to close the door again but this time he just steps inside.  _

_ “I’m alone too.” He tells her and she makes a face, a scoff falls out of her mouth. He has an entire house of siblings and two parents, what does he mean? “My parents and my siblings, they all went to an old family cabin and I stayed home to study.” _

_ “Tragic, truly.” She says dryly, “Maybe you should go bother Olivia instead of me.” _ _   
_ _ “Mary…” He says her name softly, “I’m sorry.”  _

_ “You’re sorry.” She nods, “Okay, great. I’m fixed.” She claps her hands together, “Yay!” _

_ “Let me explain.” _

_ “Explain what, Francis. How you...you ignored me to chat it up with your ex-girlfriend and didn't even notice when I left?” She asks, “On our date?” Her first date ever, she was so excited and at the end of it, she ended up standing off to the side while Francis caught up with Olivia. She tugged on his sleeve like a damn child to try and get his attention, even asked for a ride home and he snapped at her. She ended up climbing in a cab she couldn't afford and crying at Kenna’s. Bash was also at Kenna’s, who turned out to be Francis’ brother, who called him to yell at him. That made it even worse.  _

_ She shakes her head, “I thought you liked me…” that’s soft, her words are barely above a whisper and he looks very upset by it as he sets the bottle down on a table. She steps back when he reaches, “Just leave, please.” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Go away, Francis.” _

_ “I was an ass.” He says softly _

_ “You don't say.” _

_ “Can we just sit and talk?” He asks it's almost pleading, and the only reason she nods is to get him to stop looking at her like that.  _ _   
_ _ That’s how they end up sitting in front of the fireplace, the lighting from the fire makes Francis unfairly pretty and she sips at her fake wine.  _

_ “Olivia was my first serious girlfriend.” He explains, “It ended really badly.” He tells her, “I’m not even sure it ended.” _ _   
_ _ “What do you mean?” _

_ “My mother was supposed to be gone for the night, but she came home to find...us in my room.” He shrugs, “She threw her clothes out the window and made a few phone calls, I didn't see Olivia again after that. It had been years and suddenly, she was just there.” Mary makes a face, she knew Catherine had a flare for the dramatic, maybe not that dramatic. “It doesn't excuse what happened, I was overwhelmed, I seriously thought for a time my mother had her killed.” She can't tell if he is joking or not. _

_ “I don't think I ever want to meet your mom.”  _

_ “She isn't that bad.” He says softly, “Now at least.” He sighs, “I’m so sorry, Mary, I really am. I should have never treated you like that.” No, no he shouldn't have. She shifts next to him, sips at her drink. It's quiet before he speaks again. _

_ “I want to try again.” He says softly, “One more chance. If I blow it, I’ll leave you alone.” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Please?”  _

_ “Francis.” She sighs when he pouts. God, she hates his stupid, pretty face. “What will you tell Olivia if she shows up again?” _

_ “That I’m busy on a date with a smarter, prettier girl with very soft lips.” _

_ “How do you know how soft my-” She has no time to prepare, his lips were on hers in a nanosecond, he cups her face. Her cup launches itself out of her hand and into her lap, spilling its contents on both of them. He doesn't seem to mind as he continues to kiss her, softening it's intensity to something she was more comfortable with. She’s still in his arms, tense, eventually, she pushes him away. _

_ “I…” She starts, “I’m sorry I don't know what to...to do.” She’s a blushing mess in front of him, she’s never been kissed before but he just smiles at her.  _ _   
_ _ She does end up going out with him again. _

_ -/- _

“What are you doing?” Mary asks as she walks into the kitchen to find Francis at the island counter with a cutting board. 

“Chopping up carrots for the roast.” He says without looking up and she makes a face.

“I thought you didn't cook.” 

“I’m a man of many talents.” He smirks, if her dreams were anything to go off of, she knows that. Sort of. She shifts on her feet.

“Can I help?” She asks softly and he looks up momentarily, “James fell asleep.” She points at the small form taking up most of the couch. 

“Come here.” She rounds the corner to stand next to him, he hands her the knife. “Can you cut these into thin slices?” He asks and she nods.

“Like this?” She asks, positioning her hands for a demonstration, but her hand slips a little and she ends up cutting a large piece off. Knife slicing through and hitting the cutting board loudly. 

“ _ Thin _ , darling.” He grins amusingly and she frowns as she tries again. 

“Liiike this?” She asks and she somehow manages to cut a bigger piece, it rolls off the counter and onto the floor. Wow, she really isn't good at this. And she thought the years of neglect and having to cook her own meals taught her something. 

“Not even close.” He laughs softly, “Here.” She thinks he is going to just move her aside and take over but he doesn't. He steps behind her, against her back as he takes the hand positioned at the end of the vegetable and moves it up closer to where she had the knife. “Hold it here.” He says softly. Dear God, he’s right by her ear. Is he trying to kill her? He’s trying to kill her.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when his hands come up to pull her hair back, his knuckles barely touching the skin of her neck. It's half a second, at most, of contact but her skin breaks out in goosebumps anyway and her stomach propels itself to her throat.

“There, now I can see.” He says softly, she feels his breath against the shell of her ear. Her face is red, it has to be. She barely keeps the small sound in when his hands drop to her hips to move her, it doesn't last long, but oh she feels it. 

It's too much, it's too much, it's too much-

“Now try.” He says, his voice does not at all sound bothered, or even hot, he just sounds normal and unphased. She’s having a nervous breakdown right now. Her hands are where he wants them, in terms of cooking, but he doesn't step back. 

She swallows hard before giving herself a good mental shake and slicing this stupid vegetable. It’s a thinner piece, it looks more like the ones he already chopped and she smiles. 

“You did it!” He says happily, “Good work.” She doesn't say anything, she can hardly breathe right now. “Keep going.” She thinks he doesn't step back because he wants to make sure she has the technique down, but once she’s halfway through, he still doesn't move.

“Aren't you..um…” Isn't he going to go do whatever else he had to do? 

“What?” He asks quietly, as he lightly trails his fingers down her arm. His nails barely touch the skin, but it's enough to make her stop breathing entirely. “You don't like my supervision?” His tone is soft and playful and she thinks she feels something at the small of her back but good lord, she’s probably imagining that.  _ (If she isn't though, lucky Mary). _

Who knew cooking could be so sensual?

He’s messing with her, he really is. What kind of game is he playing? It's like he wants her to pass out. Did she mention how good he smells? And how warm he is? And how tingly her entire body is starting to feel, especially somewhere a little more down south. 

Two could play at this game, she wonders what would happen if she spun around and kissed him. He’d probably do what most husbands would do, he’d kiss her back. 

Does she want that?

_ Yes. _

Is she bold enough to ask for it?

_ No _ .

She wonders what that would be like, he hasn't kissed her yet. Would it be as good as the kisses he gives her in her dreams? Probably better. She almost puts the knife down. 

_ No, Mary, you are finishing the carrot, not Francis.  _ Her mind always seems to put a damper on things, doesn't it? The man still hasn't moved. It's like he’s testing her. 

Then she feels it. His fingers found the place where her shirt rode up and they brush against the exposed skin. Oh, that’s new territory. 

She doesn't hear the soft chuckle when her breath hitches. 

_ Yeah, fuck it. _

She spins in his arms, heart hammering out of her chest, she stops. She doesn't do it, the knots in her stomach tighten uncomfortably and she’s left standing there staring at him like an idiot.

“I…” She swallows hard and he quirks a brow.

“You?” His voice is so soft and his hands are also so soft. They’re burning but also soft, and she bets his lips are softer. He’s even closer now, corner of his lips tilt up slightly and she swallows again.

“I left the shower running.” She says that quickly, it comes out in a rush as she high tails it out of there. She pretends she doesn't hear him laugh when her back hits the bathroom door and she finally releases the breath she’s been holding for so long. 

* * *

A/N: Someone needs to cooooll iiittt.   
Hey hey, thanks for spending the last few minutes of my birthday with me. I had to upload this today, I couldn't wait. So, uh, thats my birthday present to you.


	8. And So It Goes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaacccckkk! Sorry for taking so long on the update. I was suffering from some pretty severe writer's block. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you think. :)

There are sirens and twisted metal, blood on blood on blood. There’s something under her, hard pavement and it's getting more and more difficult to draw each breath. Something wet hits her face, large droplets of cool water. 

She wakes with a start, clutching her head as she breathes deeply. The room is dark, the house is quiet. No sirens, no blood, no glass, it's just her in this room.  _ It was just a dream _ , her mind tells her,  _ nothing to be afraid of. _ Still, was it a dream? Or was it more? It’s fading with each passing second and she decides not to dwell on it as she throws the blanket back. The floor is cold as it meets her bare feet as she pads down the stairs. She can hear Francis’ soft breathing as she tiptoes to the kitchen. He never sleeps, so she knows better than to wake him. 

She does her best to be quiet as she pulls a glass down from the cupboard above the sink, the water rushing from the faucet is too loud even to her own ears as she places her glass under it. It sounds even louder as she forces it down her dry throat. 

“Mary?” His voice makes her jump and nearly drop the cup.

“I was trying not to wake you.” She says with a glance his way, his lips only curl in a tired smile.

“I wasn't sleeping.”

“You should be.” She frowns as she sits down at the table. He shrugs as he crosses the room and pulls out a chair, taking a seat across from her. 

“I could say the same of you.” He runs a hand over his face and sighs, “What are you doing up?” 

“Bad dream.”

“About?” 

“Was...was I thrown from the car?” She asks softly, it's the only thing that could explain what she felt under her, the sounds of sirens in the distance would suggest no one had gotten to her yet. She doubts she crawled out herself. Francis blinks as he straightens, doesn't meet her eyes as he nods.

“The seat belt snapped, I guess, but yes you were.” He tells her, “It was a miracle you lived.” Was it? She can't remember him, or their kid, wouldn't it have been better;  _ easier _ , if she had died? Surely it would have been. She doesn't say anything else about it, she can see that it pains him to talk about it. “You know you can ask me anything you want to know, I’ll do my best to answer.”

“There is. A few things.” She says softly and he motions for her to continue, “Did my mom...get better, you know, at the whole mom thing?” 

“She did for a time.” For a time, nice. “She relapsed for the last time after James turned one.”

“Is that what killed her?”

“No, I think the last time really would have been the last time but then she got sick, and then she…” 

“Oh.” 

“Addiction is a scary thing, it's hard to overcome it. I don't believe it was ever her intention to hurt you.” 

“But she did.”

“Yes, she did.” He says softly and they both fall silent as she stares into her glass of water with a frown. For a little while it's just the sound of wind outside, and the soft creaks of the house settling, a mantra of crickets through a cracked window somewhere. He looks tired, weary, and she hopes he at least slept a little. He’ll make himself sick if he doesn't try to rest at some point. 

“Francis.”

“Yes?”

“What's keeping you up?” She asks softly. At first, she thought it might be worry but the worst is over now, now she wonders if it's something else entirely. She thinks about the argument he had with that woman in his office. The pretty blonde with long legs, he still doesn't know she was listening.  _ “Francis, she doesn't remember you, you could leave tomorrow and it wouldn't make a difference." _ Why would a colleague say that to another colleague? It seems wildly inappropriate of her to suggest such a thing and Mary’s stomach twists just a bit. He must see her panic because he comes a little closer now.

“What is it?” He asks softly, barely above a whisper and she shakes her head. 

“Were we okay...before the accident?” She asks. Was he planning on leaving her? Did something happen? He’s quiet, fingers finding her own, thumb running over her knuckles lovingly. 

“I love you.” But he offers no other reassurances and maybe that would quiet her panic before but it doesn't now and she just pulls her hand away and fidgets with her rings. “Mary-”

“I should go back to bed.”

“Wait.” He says when she jumps out of her seat and she thinks he’ll shed some light on the suspicion rising in her throat but he doesn't. “Let me make you some tea. It’ll help you sleep.” He says with a small smile as he stands and she nods as she sits back down.

“I’m not the one who needs help sleeping.” She jokes softly and he smirks.

“It's not your job to fret over me, Mary.” If it isn't hers then whose is it?

She doesn't sleep much, she just lies there and thinks as she stares at the ceiling. What if he doesn't kiss her because he doesn't want to? No, then the other night wouldn't make sense. His hands were everywhere they could be without being too inappropriate. What if they were on the verge of a divorce before the accident and he doesn't want to tell her because he realizes he doesn't want it? What if they weren't fine. There had to be a reason she was out so late, during a storm. 

She can't remember and it’s frustrating because now it feels like he’s hiding something from her. 

“How did you sleep?” Francis asks when she comes downstairs the next morning, James isn't up yet, and she watches him fold the blankets on the couch.    
“Better.”

“Good.” He smiles a small smile, “I-”

“Who’s Olivia?” She asks softly, it just falls out of her mouth without warning. It's not an unfair question, she genuinely doesn't know, but the look on his face makes her want to pull the question back through her lips and never let them out again. He swallows, sighs, continues folding.

“Someone I work with, why?”

“I...saw you guys talking the other day and I...I was just wondering who she was.” She says softly, and why should feel the need to imply he was leaving his wife and child when apparently they were fine. 

“She was just asking how you were.”

“Right.” Mary nods as she picks at her nails. Okay, so he’s lying now and her stomach twists. He wouldn't...would he? Olivia is very pretty, but he’s been so so kind to her and tender and- Maybe he’s been taking such good care of her because of that. He feels bad. He can't sleep on account of guilt. She shakes her head. 

“Mary?” His voice snaps her out of it and she looks up to see he’s standing in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking.” She says softly. He pushes a stray strand of her hair out of her face before finding her fingers and giving them a light squeeze. 

“Wanna wake up James for me?” He asks with a small smile and she nods, “Wait.” He pulls her back when she tries to walk away, turning her to face him, “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.”   
“Something.”

“My head hurts a little.” She tells him. It doesn't, but that gets him to nod and step back. 

“Let me know if it gets worse.”

_ -/- _

She can't shake the feeling that she’s missing something. She’s missing a lot of things but she feels there is something he is purposefully not telling her. She doesn't see him much anymore, he’s always leaving for something or going to a different room to answer calls. Mary tells herself it's just because he’s getting ready to go back to work in a few days, get some normalcy back in their lives. 

“Francis.”

“Hm?” There’s a mountain of papers in front of him at the kitchen table and he doesn't look up as she approaches. 

“Do you have to go back so soon?” 

“Unfortunately.” He says on a sigh, offers her a small smile when she frowns. What is she supposed to do all day with James and Francis gone? Just sit and wait for them to come back? What did she do before? “It won't be that bad.”

“Says you, at least you won't be bored out of your mind.” She says as she picks at her nails, the next question is softer, she doesn't even know why she asks it, it just sprints up her throat and breaks through her mouth like a finish line. “Will Olivia be there?”

“Any particular reason why you’re asking me that?”

“I don't know…” She shrugs, “Is there? You’re kind of the gatekeeper of my memories right now.” There’s a pause, a long one. 

“She will be,” He says, “I doubt I’ll see her though.” He sighs as he shuffles paper like he’s just trying to give his hands something to do, a distraction if you will, and when he looks back up at her again, he frowns at her nail picking. “I have an idea.” He says suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Get your coat.” He tells her as he suddenly stands and she quirks a brow because he’s acting strange. They never leave. Certainly not this late into the evening, the sun is starting to set, James will need to be put to bed soon. 

“Pardon?” She questions, craning her head to look at him as he places his hand over her shoulders and spins her around, successfully steering her towards the front of the house where her coat is hung up. Then he goes in search of their son and leaves her standing in the hall. 

Maybe Francis just wants to procrastinate, is a thought that comes to mind when they’re in the car and he’s driving and she’s beyond confused. He doesn't strike her as the procrastinating type. It's a bit suspicious, this sudden mood change, but she pays it no mind, it’s nice to leave the house after being cooped up for so long. 

“James is excited to spend time with his aunt Leeza, he hardly gets to see her,” Francis says as he returns to the car after going into a house with the little boy and coming out without. She blinks as she leaned back in the seat, eyeing the very luxurious house before her. 

“That... _ that’s _ your sister's house?” She asks. Calling it a house is a bit of an understatement, it’s a palace, a mansion, something you only see on TV, in movies. Even the grass looks rich despite the cold. 

“Her husband's estate.”

“Who did she marry?” She asks

“A very wealthy man.” He tells her like he forgot she doesn't remember ever having known this and is learning everything a second time. “If you think that’s crazy, you should see my mother's house.” It's quiet as she looks at it some more, she wants to see the inside so bad she can hardly stand it. Maybe when they come back to get James, she can meet Leeza too. 

“Um...I...what’s going on?” She asks softly, finally looking at him. 

“I thought we could get something to eat.”

“Eat?”   
“As two people may do when they’re out.”   
“Out?” She questions, “You mean like...a date?”

“If you don't feel like it, we can go ho-”   
“No I-” She says quickly, almost frantic, “I want to.” That makes him smile, a bright thing that could almost hurt her eyes as he exhales a sigh of relief. 

“That would have been really awkward if you said no.” He says as he reaches for the ignition. 

_ -/- _

“Have we been here before?” She asks as they walk. The boardwalk is relatively quiet, just the soft murmur of conversation, the hum of wind hitting leaves, the lull of waves crashing against a rocky shore somewhere far from them. The path is lit with strings of yellow lights and what’s left of daylight. There isn't a lot of people out, probably due to the cool weather and the light drizzle of rain, misty droplets barely find their skin but they walk anyway. 

“Once.” He tells her but something about his face tells her that he doesn't want to relive that memory, so she doesn't ask. He pulled her over to a small nook with a bench that overlooks the water, she doesn't sit though, she walks over to the railing to get a closer look. “Are you feeling okay?” She hears him ask.   
“I’m fine.” She says with a small smile. “I have a question.”

“I might have an answer.” He’s standing next to her now, both of them eyeing a boat in the distance. 

“What was our first date like?” 

“I knew you were going to ask that at some point.” He says on a sigh, but he smiles a small smile as he turns his head to look at her. “It was fine...and then it wasn't.”

“It was bad?”

“A disaster, on my part. I was very stupid.” 

“What happened?” She asks and he makes a face like he doesn't want to tell her but she doesn't remember, and it might help so he does eventually. “You ditched me.”

“No.” He says quickly, “Maybe…”

“I can't believe you did that!” She gapes at him

“It was years ago!”

“Not to meeeee!”

“You went out with me again and we got married so I think I’ve more than made up for it.” 

“How hard did you have to try to get me to go out with you again?”

“Took a little bit of stalking.” He smirks. She imagines if it had been anyone else who ditched her in favor of an old flame, she never would have given them another chance. But it's Francis. 

“That’s creepy.”

“It worked.”

“It working does not inherently erase the creep factor.”

“Still worked.”   
“Still creepy.” She says softly, “I have more questions.” 

“Okay.” This one is one she’s been wanting to ask but she isn't sure how. Guess the only way to do it is to just do it. 

“Why only James?” She asks and he raises a brow like he’s waiting for the rest of the question, “Why do we...only have James?” She asks, looking at her hands as her fingers start to pick nervously at familiar skin. She may start bleeding soon. She hopes it isn't because of something tragic, like a loss, or her body isn't able to give him more than what they have. She hopes it's something simple like they just never talked about it before now but she’s been wondering. The way Kenna talked, they were always...they should have a house full, but they don't. 

“Um…” He shifts, “That’s quite the question.”

“I’m sorry, you don't...you don't have to-”

“A couple of years ago.” He says softly, “James, he got really sick...it's something he gets from me, unfortunately, I got sick a lot as a kid too. It was pretty serious.” 

“How serious?” She asks and he doesn't answer right away but she knows what he’s going to say before he says it. 

“We almost lost him.” He tells her on a hard swallow, “He was so little, you know? So fragile and...I knew that if he didn't make it, I would lose both of you. We decided one night while he was sleeping in the hospital bed that we wouldn't have another one. Even if he got better and he made it, I couldn't go through that again and I couldn't ask you to.”

“He almost died?” 

“Yeah.” 

“But he’s okay now?” She asks softly. She doesn't want to think about it, it feels like her whole body is being squeezed, just the thought of him- he’s just a boy. He’s so little, she doesn't want to remember that. 

“He’s okay now.” He says with a small reassuring smile but it's hiding some painful memories for him and she can see the slight wetness to his eyes, the wounds are still fresh. Even if it was years ago, the thought of almost losing their child, it's a pain not many can understand. He blinks it back though and swallows again as he looks back at the water. They let the quiet fill with whatever's around them instead of trying to fill it themselves. 

“Could it change?” She asks after a while.

“Could what change?” 

“Could you ever want more?” 

“We’re treading into dangerous territory here.” He smirks.

“I don't mean  _ now _ .” That would require them to...do  _ stuff _ . She’s not even sure if she wants more than the one they have, this whole mother thing still feels so new. Because it is. She’s only known him for a month, maybe two, despite James knowing her his entire life. Everything is so complicated. 

“We’ll reconvene when you can remember the first one.” She knows he’s joking but it still sends a small jab through her chest as she frowns and looks back down at her hands where they rest on the railing. “I’m sorry...that was-”   
“No, it's okay.” She says, “It's true too.” 

“Sometimes I forget that you don't remember.” He admits, “The number of times I’ve had to stop myself from doing something as simple as kissing you-”

“Why?” That flies out of her mouth and she steps back, “Uh…I mean, I…” She really backed herself into a corner, didn't she?  _ Way to go, Stuart. Now he’s looking at you like you’re a psycho. _ Except that he isn't. He’s just watching her with a questioning eye and a small, barely concealed, amused smirk. If anything, it makes this so much worse. She can't even run away because he’s her ride home. She swallows, is about to stammer some sort of excuse that would probably make the embarrassment even worse, but she’s caught off guard by his eyes. Well, the lights in his eyes, the little yellow dots that reflect off the light blue that’s still so bright even in the dark. He’s so pretty, it's not fair. She looks away with a swallow as she turns her attention to the boat against the horizon. 

“Mary,” She doesn't like the way his voice sounds as it bounces against her ear and she tries to ignore that knots in her stomach when she feels him come closer. “Come here.” There’s something wildly assertive and insanely hot in the way that he says that but she doesn't. No, not until he sticks a finger in her belt loop and pulls her to him. He doesn't say anything as he turns her head towards him and just does it. 

Mouth meets mouth, lips on lips, and she was worried she wouldn't know what to do but that's the thing. She does. The human brain is so complicated, she can't remember the act of kissing him, it's not like memories come rushing in like they do in the movies. No, but somewhere, it knows him. Her body knows him and her lips know him and her skin. This feels familiar and not at all new, even the press of her body against his feels familiar, the way he keeps his hand at the small of her back. She pulls away suddenly but keeps her forehead pressed to his. 

“Did I do something?” She shakes her head.

“_Public_.” She breathes, lips spreading in a smile as she tries not to laugh. She’s sure they’re putting on quite the show for innocent onlookers, people just passing by, trying to mind their own business. Francis is the first one to laugh and she follows suit but he doesn't let her go.

“Do you want to go home?”

“Can we get James first?”

“Duh.” He gives her a look like she’s crazy for even asking as he pulls back and weaves his fingers tightly through hers and starts pulling her towards wherever the hell he parked the car.


	9. Dust To Dust

Francis is seated at the kitchen table when she turns James’ bedroom light out and closes the door. He barely looks up as she crosses the room to him and pulls a chair out, sitting with a sigh. 

“Can we talk?” She doesn't mean to sound so serious, or somber, but it makes him set the paper down and straighten.

“What is it?” He asks.

“It's not bad, um, I just don't really know how to…” She toys with a strand of her own hair, inspecting the ends with her fingers. They’re split, and dry, dead; she’ll need to trim it soon. Apparently she zones out because, after a considerable amount of silence, she hears Francis clear his throat and she shakes her head, “Sorry.”

“You were saying? What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Your sleeping arrangements.” 

“My sleeping arrangements.”

“Mhm.”

“What about them?” 

“You’re going back to work tomorrow...so I thought it would be better for you...not to sleep on the couch…” She says slowly, softly, watching him stand up and go over to the sink to refill his cup. 

“I’m not switching with you if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I meant. You could sleep in the bed...with me…”

“Ah, you want me to sleep with you.” She hears the smirk, though she doesn't see it until he turns back around and it makes her stomach twist and turns as she picks at her nail and fidgets, tries not to blush but she probably is. 

“Not like  _ that _ .”

“Not like what?” She opts not to answer him as she stands. “I’ll think about it. It is late, you should go get some rest.”

“You’ll join me later?” She asks softly as she walks over to him, fingers run over the soft fabric of his shirt. 

“We’ll see.” That’s mostly a whisper as he closes the small gap between them, lips resting lightly over her own in something small and quick. She likes that they can do this now, he actually feels like he’s her husband and not just a live-in nurse she has a crush on. The only thing left to really seal the deal is...well…   
Sharing a bed might fix that one.

“I wouldn't have offered if it made me uncomfortable.” He sweeps her hair from her shoulder, giving her a small smile.    
“I know.” He says as he gives her hand a small squeeze and then let her go. She wonders sometimes what he’s thinking, she’d love to know now, in this precise moment. Is he thinking about the absurdity of his wife having to ask him if he wants to share a bed with her? Is it odd to hear her remind him she wouldn't ask if it made her uncomfortable? Probably.    
Maybe he will join her later, maybe she’ll find him next to her in the morning. She changes her clothes and turns out the lights and after a little while, when she’s just falling asleep, she hears the door open. 

“I was beginning to think you didn't want to part from the couch.” She smirks, her eyes are closed but she hears the smallest breath of a laugh.

“We’ve formed quite the bond.” He jokes and it's a few seconds before she hears him walk over to the other side of the bed and as he peels the blankets back he asks, “If you’re uncomfortable, you’ll tell me?”

“Mhm.” She mumbles. The mattress dips with his weight and so does her stomach, she can feel his body heat once he stops shifting to get comfortable and then it’s quiet. She turns over to look at him only to find that he’s already looking at her. He reaches to pull the blanket tighter around her and she smiles a small, tired, smile at him. 

“What?” He asks

“This is nice.” She says softly, “Francis?”

“Yes?”

“Does it upset you that I don't remember...anything?” She doesn't know why she asks it, she doesn't know what she would say if this were the other way around, how can she expect him to know what to say. He doesn't say anything for a little while, seemingly thinking about it.

“I think...for anyone it would be upsetting to find that...the person you built a life with doesn't remember any of it.” He says softly, “But you’re still here, alive. I was so scared that night that I would lose you, the thought that I could lose you in another way didn't even occur to me. This is definitely better than the alternative, I’ll help you recover but I wouldn't have survived putting you in the ground.” It's quiet for a moment before he speaks again, “Are you sure you don't remember anything? Surely there had to be something.”

“I…” She swallows, “I always have...weird dreams, they make me feel strange when I wake up but...I never remember why or even what they were about.” That’s not entirely true, she remembers some things, but it’s insignificant, only the tiniest of fragments of some bigger picture she isn't seeing. 

“The doctor said your memories could suddenly come back one day, we just don't know when.” It could take years, or a few more months, she could wake up tomorrow and remember everything, or she could never remember. It's upsetting for him, but it's frustrating for her too. 

“You have to get up early.” She says softly, “Try and sleep, please…” 

“Goodnight, Mary.”

“Goodnight, Francis.” 

_ -/- _

The next two nights when Francis crawls into bed with her, her stomach stops filling with nervous flutters. It becomes a new normal, an old normal for Francis, but new nonetheless. Her body slowly becomes used to him being next to her, down to the dip in the mattress with a different weight, to the way the comforter hangs over her body as it accommodates the other person beside her. She starts to seek out the warmth when it’s chilly, curving away when it’s too warm. Even though she knows he sleeps next to her, one could argue that he doesn't, since he’s awake when she wakes up and, oftentimes, already at work and then he stays up most nights to finish whatever he didn't finish at the office. 

“I hardly see you anymore.” She pouts one evening as he slides in the bed. It’s pretty late and she can tell by the slight jump he wasn't expecting her to be awake.

“I know…” He says softly as he pulls the blanket up around them, “I have a lot to catch up on, it shouldn't be like this in a few days.”

“I miss you.” She sighs, “And James...with you gone and James at school I have nothing to do. What did I do before?”

“I have no idea.”

“You never asked?”

“Um-”

“Are you not interested in my  _ day _ , Francis?” She asks as she sits up, a scoff on her lips when he sits up too, but he just looks amused at her mock anger.

“Of course I am.”

“Sure.”

“Mary-”

“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself.” She frowns, “I never thought I’d be the type of woman who just...sits at home and twiddled my thumbs while I wait for my husband to come home.” She sighs, “Did I used to get you your slippers and draw you a bath as soon as you come in?”

“You could invite your friends over. It's been a while since you’ve seen them.” She could do that, except that she can't. Her phone doesn't work, only enough for her to look through old pictures in hopes that it’ll kick start her brain and make her remember something.

“I suppose by way of carrier pigeon.”

“Maybe read a book, I can recommend a few.” She sighs loudly and then groans, “What would you have me do?”

“Quit your job, stay here with me all day.”

“Do you like having electricity? Heat? Food-”   
“Okay, I get it.” She huffs, “I…” She doesn't finish her next complaint because he turned her face towards his own and presses his lips to hers. It’s too short and quick, when he pulls away he pulls her back down to the mattress. 

“Get some sleep, we can continue this conversation in the morning.” He says softly as he fixes the blanket around them both and moves the hair out of her face but she doesn't close her eyes, or try to get more comfortable, she scoots a little closer, until she successfully catches his mouth with hers with a tilt of her head. This time he doesn't pull away after something quick, maybe because she’s the one who kisses him instead and she’ll end it when she’s good and ready to.    
The notion that maybe she bit off more than she can chew doesn't hit her until it goes from quick and light to...heavy and curious. Until it's heavy breaths and hands in hair and more than she’s sure she’s ready for but she keeps it going. 

His hand finding the warm skin of her back should make her pull away but it doesn't, it just makes her press herself to him harder, until her own fingers do a little exploring of their own. They skim down his chest, dipping under his shirt, and because she thinks she wants more than this, her body sure is telling her it  _ wants  _ more than this. Her fingers find the waistband of his pants.

“No.” That’s quick, urgent, breathless as his fingers close around hers to stop her. 

“Why?” She asks softly, “You don't want-”

“No, it's…” He sighs as he pulls her hands away and then pulls himself away and that only makes her feel worse. “You’re still recovering…” It sounds like an excuse more than a reason and that makes her stomach fall. Maybe he doesn't want her like he used to, not that she’d even know what their sex life used to be. 

“Did I do something?”

“No-”

“Then-”

“I don't want to hurt you.” He just recoiled away from her like she’s a disease and he doesn't want to get sick, consider her  _ hurt _ . “We should...you should try and sleep.” 

“Okay…” She swallows her hurt feelings, tries to ignore the rejection that twists her guts, she turns away from him. 

“I-”

“Night.” She says softly and it's a few seconds before he sighs heavily and lies down too. 

_ -/- _

_ Once when she was five, her mother took her to a Christmas Eve service at an old church. The church has since been torn down, but she remembers that night so clearly. She remembers the way her dark hair tangled with the big buttons on her coat, how her mother's gloved fingers guided her to the back pew. The way she eased her worry with a soft, “I’ll come get you when it’s over, wait out front for me,” and then she left. No one questioned why there was a child all by herself in the back, no one even noticed the little girl. It was cold in that chapel, the church was so old it didn't have heat, but there were so many people, young and old gathered to celebrate the birth of Christ and to worship. She was too young to really understand it. When it finally ended, she went outside to wait for her mother with a plastic cup of something warm. She never came, even as the last car pulled from the parking lot, and the last person walked down the street, her mother never came. She shivered despite the layers she had to keep her warm, her hot chocolate turned to ice between her small fingers and she watched the street for familiar headlights. _

_ The church smelled as old as it looked, a heavy scent of mildew and ancient wood in the air. That’s what this place smells like. Mildew, small freezing fingers, and watered down hot chocolate. _

_ Her father, apparently, had an open casket funeral. As is what James tells her, she wouldn't know. She wasn't old enough to remember when he died. Her mother, she knew she wouldn't want that, and the thought of making people see her...it seemed awful. Her casket is black, white flowers over the lid, an old picture on a stand next to it. _

_ “Are you going to talk to him anytime soon?” James whispers as the preacher conducts the service and her eyes flick over to Francis, he’s sitting only a few people away from her, after she bit his head off for hovering, she made it a point not to sit next to him.  _

_ “He’s fine.” She whispers back, her eyes returning to settle back on the casket.  _

_ “Alright,” James whispers like he doesn't want to know any more than she’s willing to tell, but she can feel his eyes on her and that only seems to make her angrier.  _

_ “I just want to get this over with.” The funeral will end, they’ll go home, and she’ll call Leeza every twenty minutes to see how her son is doing. Francis didn't think a funeral was the place for a toddler and she agreed. _

_ “I’m about to switch places with him.” _

_ “Don't” _

_ “Mary, he has been glancing over here every two seconds.” _

_ “Oh well.” _

_ “Ope, I’m doing it.” James whispers, “Try and stop meee.” He’s already standing and, discreetly as possible, he’s moving over to Francis. She keeps her eyes on the front as they switch places and she doesn't look at him when he’s in the seat next to her.  _

_ “James said you needed something?” He asks, voice soft and below a whisper. _

_ “James lied.” She whispers back, swallows, keeps her eyes on the casket. “I need some air.” She says quickly and then stands before he can say anything, ignores the curious eyes on her as she exits the large room to the hall, where she waits because she knows the man followed her.  _

_ “Are you alright?” Francis asks as she walks further down the hall, they still have to keep their voices down but they talk just a small bit louder without disturbing anyone. _

_ “Where are we right now?” She asks on a scoff. She isn't fine, she hasn't been fine and he should really think before he asks her such a stupid question like that.  _

_ “I’m just trying to help you.” He says as he walks up to her, his voice is exasperated like he’s exhausted or annoyed or something he isn't telling her. “Why can't you let me?”  _ _   
_ _ “You want to help me?” She asks, “Fine.” Without another word she’s grabbing his arm and pulling him towards a room, with a door and a lock. The closest place is the bathroom, and once the lock is twisted into place she’s pulling him down to her mouth. If he has any objections, she doesn't give him time to announce it as her finger find his hair and she pushes him back against the wall. He kisses her back but apparently that’s as far as he’s willing to go because when her hands find his belt his are there to stop her. _

_ “Mary-” _

_ “Please.” The plea is pitiful at best, forehead pressed against his as she tries to put her lips back on his but he moves.  _

_ “No.” He says softly, fingers still around her wrists, “Not here, okay? This is not the time-” Any other day she would nod and agree and fix herself before stepping back out and sitting, but today, it enrages her. She shoves him. _

_ “Are you serious!?”  _

_ “Mary, I know this is hard-” _ _   
_ _ “The only thing that's hard, apparently.” _

_ “For the love of-” He’s interrupted by a soft knock on the door.  _

_ “Everything okay?” Kenna’s voice comes through the thick wood.  _

_ “Great. Fantastic.” Mary says, “Go away.”  _

_ “Putting the F.u.n back in Funeral I see,” Kenna comments, no doubt with a knowing smirk, then she hears the click of heels, someone exiting and she turns back on Francis, swallowing to try and calm down.  _

_ “We should head back.” He says softly, “Yeah?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Really?” He looks like his patience is wearing thin, but after a sigh and a few breaths, he’s completely composed. She doesn't know what makes her angrier, the rejection or his utter refusal to yell or fight. “Okay, I know-” She moves away when he reaches, a scoff on her lips. “What? What is it that you want? What can I do?” _

_ “Something other than asking if I’m okay every five minutes, other than bringing me food just because. God, if I get another grief casserole from your mother, I'm going to scream!” And scream she does, it makes him step back as he leans on the counter, a shake of his head as he runs his hand over his face. _

_ “I’m sorry trying to comfort you was such an offense.” He tells her, “And I will tell my mother to cool it with the baked goods.” He’s joking, which isn't good to do right now, she wants to pull her own hair out, she’s so frustrated.  _

_ “What do I have to do to get you to yell at me!”  _

_ “Why do you want me to yell at you?” She’s angry and the object of her anger is tucked away in an expensive box, it just coils around in her gut and she has nowhere to go with it. She needs to get it out. “I know you’re upset, I get it, but just try to talk to me.”  _

_ “Talk about what?” She asks, “Dead parents?” His dad died not too long ago, but unlike her, he had siblings to comfort, his mother to comfort, people who knew Henry and understood. His father was an odd man, one time at Thanksgiving he put his hand up Mary’s dress. She never told Francis and he didn't live long after. Francis doesn't say anything, he just watches with a patient eye for her to say what she needs to say. _

_ “The fact that I’m an orphan now?” She asks, she’s never said it out loud so it hits a little too hard and she needs a minute to catch her breath, “That she was finally starting to get better...after all the years I begged her to.” She was going to meetings, she was keeping herself busy, she wasn't drowning herself in alcohol, or shoving pills down her own throat.  _

_ “And we were finally...close, like I’ve always wanted. Like a family…” She doesn't want to talk about this anymore and it's getting too hard to breathe but when she tries to go to the door, Francis is in her way.  _

_ “Keep going.” That’s soft, it's so soft and she wants to say no but she doesn't. “What else?” _

_ “She was doing so well…” She says, “For the first time since I was little, she was trying and now she’s...dead...and it wasn't alcohol poisoning or an accidental overdose. She just got sick. How messed up is that?” She asks on a small sob, “How can that even…” It's all coming up now, she hasn't cried yet, not even when Francis told her, she just said okay and went on trying not to think about it. Or feel it. Now she’s feeling it.  _

_ She feels like her chest is going to break open, or collapse as it heaves to get air back into her lungs. Francis has her though, his arms are around her in a tight embrace and he’s whispering comforting words in her hair and she doesn't know how long she cries against him, or how long he holds her, but next knock is someone letting them know it was time to head to the cemetery. _

_ -/- _

It’s awkward now, strained, when she looks at him she feels rejected. She isn't sure what he’s feeling, he seems normal, like the other night didn't happen. He seems more stressed than he was a few days ago, but that’s just because of work and she hopes it has nothing to do with her.    
Mornings are busy here, between Francis getting ready for work and then trying to get James ready for school. She woke up with him to try and help, but she feels like she’s making things worse. 

“James where’s your backpack?” She asks the little boy with disheveled curls and sleepy eyes. 

“Uuuuhh-”   
“Uh?” She questions, “Did you check by the stairs?” She whispers when she catches it out of the corner of her eyes. 

“James, buddy, you have to pick up the pace.” Francis says as he enters the kitchen, pulling on his suit jacket, “I have court all morning and the Judge is not sympathetic to my paternal duties.” 

“I don't know what that means,” James says with a confused expression.

“It means get your shoes on.” He says slowly spinning his son around and giving him a little nudge towards the living room. He looks at his watch and shakes his head with a sigh.

“He’s going as fast as he can, Francis.”

“I know.” He says softly, “ _ Jaammeeess! _ ” He calls, “I have to get him to school and then somehow miraculously make it to the courthouse on time.”

“It's going to be fine if you’re a little la-”   
“If you hadn't totaled your car we wouldn't be having this problem.” He says that quickly, quietly and maybe she wasn't intended to hear it. Maybe he didn't even realize he said it but it hurts nonetheless. 

“Francis…” He’s left the room now, saying something about almost forgetting something. She guesses it’s the papers on the kitchen table, the ones in a folder she isn't allowed to look at, pretty important documents for whatever it is he’s working on. She wants to make it a little easier, so she reaches to pick them up, but her hand hits her coffee cup and it falls over, spilling its contents all over the offwhite material. Her heart jumps to her throat when she hears his feet hit the tiled floor. 

“Oh, there’s-”

“Francis it was an accident-” It’s like his soul leaves his body for a second when he sees it, grabbing the soaked folder and flipping through it. “I-”

“Damnit Mary, what the hell did you do!” He’s angry, he’s never yelled at her before, and she jumps back as she grabs a napkin, desperate to fix it. He dabs the papers the best that he can but the ink is running and the white is brown and her stomach is plummeting. 

“I’m sorry…” She says softly as he shoves the folder in his bag. He looks like he has calmed down a little when he comes back from hunting down James. 

“Bash will drop James off after school, I don't know if he’ll come in. I will try to come home as soon as I can but it might be late again.” She nods, “I’ll see you later, okay?” With that, and a quick kiss to her cheek, both boys are gone and she’s left to agonize over what the hell just happened. 

For starters, he made an offhand comment that was completely unnecessary about her car, that she doesn't remember having or crashing, and then he proceeded to bite her head off. He’s stressed out, tired, probably freaking out about the project he’s working on. She shouldn't take it so personally. 

There isn't much for her to do right now, so she just cleans up what messes she can find and skims through a few old magazines she found lying around. 

_ -/- _

They don't get visitors so imagine her surprise when she finds her son in the kitchen with a dark-haired- albeit beautiful- stranger. He’s slicing an apple, handing the pieces to her kid.

“Um.” She clears her throat, oh she knows who this iiiisss, she really really feels like it's on the tip of her tongue. 

“Hi-”   
“No, no, don't tell me!” She says quickly, “_Baaasshh?_” She questions.

“Charles.”

“Oh.”

“Just kidding, it's Bash.” He smirks.

“Uncle Bash wanted to say hi.” James smiles as he munches on his snack. 

“Oh...hi.” Mary waves awkwardly, she remembers vaguely, seeing him at the hospital but he didn't say anything, James talked about him a lot too. He has very blue eyes, maybe even bluer than her husband's.

“I wanted to come and see you sooner, but...Francis thought it would be better if everyone stayed away until you were more recovered.” 

“A good idea.” She was a mess the first few weeks.

“It's been hell getting Kenna to stay away.” He tells her with a laugh, she can imagine. Kenna is so headstrong, she never does as she told, it's one of the things Mary admired about her friend. 

“It's hell getting Kenna to do anything.” She smiles. She listens to James talk to Bash about school and his school friends and Bash makes comments here and there, indulges in his wild imagines, nods, and smiles but before long, James runs off to find something else to do.

They’re alone on the porch, a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders, sitting on the steps and watching the sun go down.

“It's...nice being around someone I’m not married to.” She says softly and Bash smirks.

“Careful who you say that to.” He says as he lights a cigarette and she makes a face.

“You don't do that around my kid, do you?” 

“No, ma’am.”

“Okay.”

“It's disgusting, I know.”

“Then why do you do it?” She asks, nose scrunching. 

“Been doing it since I was a kid, why stop now?” She makes a face as she turned her eyes away with a sigh, “How are you?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”   
“Fine.” She says softly, she thinks. “I don't know.” She sighs, “Francis has been...since he went back to work he’s been...kind of mean.”

“Francis takes his work very seriously.” Bash tells her, “He worked pretty hard to get where he is now. And this case, it’s huge. He’s been working on it for months, if not a full year.”

“He won't tell me what it is.” She says softly and Bash shrugs and sighs as he puts his cancer stick out on the pavement. 

“A man, he went on a long and violent killing spree, took a very powerful family hostage.” 

“Sounds like a bad man.” She says, “And Francis...what-”

“Francis is the prosecutor assigned to his case.”   
“So, he’s helping to put him away.”

“If a jury finds him guilty, which they should, Francis is pretty good.” Bash shrugs, “Unless while he was away, Olivia messed it up and then he might have a problem.”

“Olivia…”  _ There’s that name again. _

“She’s only there to finish her apprenticeship and then she’ll be at another firm by the end of this year. But while you were recovering and Francis was here with you, she was the one the police handed the evidence stuff too, to build the case.” That makes sense, no wonder he’s been taking so many calls, but why didn't just tell her that?

“Why didn't he just tell me all of this?”

“Probably because ever since Olivia barged in your date all those years ago, the two of you haven't exactly been buddies.” What date? Does he mean the one Francis told her about? He never mentioned Olivia. Her stomach twists, and she swallows. 

“Um. What?”

“Oh.”

“Francis didn't tell me the ex who…” Oh god, of course. That's why he panicked when she asked who she was, why he lied about what they were talking about. “Francis spends every second of his waking hour with his ex-girlfriend?” 

“They work together.” Bash says softly, “I...thought you knew their history-” 

“I think...I should go back inside.” She says slowly as she stands, she leaves him on the porch, eventually, she hears him come in and start a conversation with James. 

That day in his office when they were arguing and Olivia said that he could leave if he wanted, it wouldn't bother her because she can't remember him. Was he planning on it? Was he planning on taking her son and leaving with an ex-girlfriend? Did they ever break up? Were they still…

Is that why he didn't want her the other night? He’s already getting it from someone else?

“Hey.” Bash’s voice is soft as he approaches her, the living room is dark and she didn't even notice it got that late. “I’m going to head home, are you okay?”

“I’m...thinking.” She tells him, “I hate that I’m asking but has Francis ever...expressed  _ interest  _ in Olivia? Interest that goes beyond just a work relationship?” She watches his face soften at that and it sends a sharp pain to her chest. “Oh.” She wants to cry but she can't, so she just sits on the couch, staring at the floor.

“He loves you.” Bash says, “What can she give him that you haven't already given him? No, he hasn't expressed interest in another woman.” Bash says softly, “But she has expressed interest in him.” She gathered that much, considering the argument they were having.

“You don't think he would leave me for her?”

“If he did, I’d kill him myself.” He sighs, “Whatever she was feeling, he shut it down, there weren't any mutual feelings there. They work together and as far as I know, their relationship has always been strictly professional.” 

“Okay.”

“Better?” He asks and she nods despite the sick feeling in her gut. She needs to get it together, James will need to be put to bed soon. “I have to go, if you need anything-”

“Thanks.” He leaves after that and she composes herself enough to get James fed and ready for bed and when he’s all tucked in and asleep, she sits back on the couch and tightens the blanket around her shoulder to wait for Francis.

She doesn't know how long she sits there, but it gets darker and darker until the only light in the room is the tv and headlights coming up the drive. Francis is home, and she doesn't know if she’s happy about that or scared. He doesn't know she’s awake or downstairs but she hears his keys as he hangs them, the lock of the door twisting and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he turns on the light to find his wife sitting in the dark.

“What are you doing up?” He asks as he crosses the room to her.

“I was waiting for you.”

“It's very late, you didn't have to wait for me.” He says with a small smile as he sits next to her, he leans in to kiss her but she pulls away. “Mary, I’m sorry about this morning. I’ve been...under a lot of pressure lately and I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

“Bash told me about your case…”

“He was here?”

“He just left a few hours ago.”

“He didn't scare you, did he?” He asks, right because she didn't know who he was and there was just a strange man in her house. She shakes her head.

“You and Olivia used to date.” He doesn't say anything, just looks confused as to how she knows that.

“Oh, Bash, that  _ bastard _ .” He says under his breath, “A very long time ago, my love.”

“I heard you two arguing...all those weeks ago, in your office. I didn't hear all of it, but I heard her tell you to leave me...and that someone who was willing to risk their life to get away from you, isn't worth being with at all. And then the other night, the way you...it was like the  _ thought  _ of touching me made you sick.” She straightens, “So, whatever you’re not telling me, you need to tell me...I’m begging you.” 

“Mary-”

“ _ Please _ ,” She pleads, “Just tell me…” 

“We’re both tired. Okay?” He says, “We can talk about this another day.” He sounds slightly panicked, it only adds fuel to the fire, it makes her more suspicious. He’s getting up now, trying to pull her with him, but when she makes it a point she isn't moving. He lets go of her hand.

“Francis-”

“We dated, a long long time ago, when we were  _ maybe  _ sixteen. She’s nothing more to me than a colleague.” He’s sitting back next to her, “I love you, I love you so much and I know you don't remember right now, but you love me too. I don't want her.”

“You haven't been sleeping.” She says suddenly, softly, “I thought maybe the couch just wasn't comfortable...or you were so worried about me it was keeping you up, but when the worry subsided and you moved to our bed. Francis, you still didn't sleep.”

“It’s been a very stressful few months-”

“A guilt-ridden mind is an unrestful one.” She tells him, “My mom told me that once when I was little, one of the rare times she was sober, I don't remember why exactly; I think I broke something and was too afraid to tell her.” 

“Mary, I don't know what Bash told you-”

“And you haven't been sleeping and you lied about who she was…” 

“Because I knew you wouldn't react well to knowing she used to be my girlfriend.” He snaps and she jumps, “I’m sorry, it's been a long day. Can we please just-”

“Why did she say I was trying to get away from you? In your office, why did she say that?” She asks and he runs his hands over his face and through his hair. These are all things she wanted to ask but didn't know how to. Now the questions are just flying out of her mouth. Francis looks defeated, like he’s about to be sick. He turns his body towards her so he can look at her more directly. He tucks her hair behind her ear, holds both her hands in his, presses a soft kiss on her knuckles. 

“Just...whatever I tell you, you have to promise not to leave…” 

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I promise.” She says softly, “Tell me.” He doesn't say anything for a little while, seemingly stalling the best he can. Then he finally sighs.

“You’re right, I haven't been sleeping because of guilt.”

“Oh-”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long it seems, but I...I always told myself to wait and then waiting became stalling and stalling became...I don't know.” He sighs, “The accident that night, it was my fault. We got in a fight, a bad one and you left. I tried to stop you...but you were desperate, determined, you could hardly stand to look at me…” 

“You said we were fine.” She says softly.

“We were.” He tells her, “Until that moment, we were so happy.” She doesn't want to ask what they were fighting about, but she has to know.

“What was the fight about?” 


	10. The Truth and Nothing but The Truth

He’d get more work done if she stopped calling him, but even if he told her he’d work faster without her distracting him, that wouldn't stop her. 

“I’ll be home soon,” Francis tells her 

“You said that twenty minutes ago.” She says on a sigh that’s most likely accompanied by a pout and he rolls his eyes. 

“Yes, and it’ll be twenty minutes more if you keep calling me.”

“There’s a storm coming.” She tells him, “I don't want you to get stuck in it.”

“I’ll be home before then.”   
“You’ve said that before.”

“That was over a year ago, will you ever let it go?” He asks with a small laugh as he leans back in his chair. He told him he would be home as soon as he could be and ended being caught in the middle of a blizzard with a dead phone and a broken-down car; to top it all off his roadside savior was Olivia. It didn't sit well with Mary when she saw who brought him home.

“When I’m dead.” She mutters. He can hear James’ soft and sweet voice in the background as he asks his mother a question. “I don't know, buddy, but you really need to go to bed.” She says sweetly in that loving tone she only uses for their son, “If you’re still up by the time dad's home you’ll be in trouuubbblleee.” She teases lightly. He hears him say something else but it's muffled by whatever Mary has on in the background to fill the silence. He hears scrambled little feet after a while and a soft laugh from his wife which makes him long to be done with work and home with her.

“Is he in bed?”

“He has retreated to his room, probably not in bed yet.” She sighs, “He listens to you better.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you done yet?”

“No.”

“Franciiiiiss. I’m bored.” She whines, “I want you to come home and entertain me.”

“Entertain you? Is that all I’m good for?” He asks

“No.” She hums, “You are an object of my deepest affections, an entertaining one at that. So when you’re done tending to your work, come home and tend to your wife.” 

“Is that code for something?”

“Maybe.”

“This conversation took a turn.” 

“Francis this storm isn't getting any further away.” She says softly, suddenly serious. 

“I’m almost done, I’ll be home soon. Don't worry.” He tells her, it won't ease her worry until she sees him pull into their driveway, and he knows she’ll worry nonetheless. He would too if it were the other way around. The knock on the door makes him jump and he sees Olivia in the open doorway, leaning on the frame. “I have to go, I love you.” He says quickly and sets his phone back down on his desk after she says her goodbyes and hangs up. 

“Was that Mary?” Olivia asks as the door swings shut behind her.

“Yes.”

“She must be worried.” She says as she crosses the room to him, “There’s a storm coming.”

“Why does everyone keep talking about the storm, I’ve heard nothing about it.”

“Because you’re too busy to watch the news.” She hums as she hands him a stack of paperwork with a grin, “Rizzio wanted me to give you these.” She says, “Oh and to ask you when you’re bringing Mary back to the office, he’s very fond of her.” 

“He knows where I live.”

“He’s a busy guy.” She shrugs as she sits in the chair in front of his desk, sighing as she crosses one long leg over the other. “Oh, you could bring her to the Christmas party.”

“Huh?”

“Wow, you really do spend all your time in a courtroom.” She makes a face, “The last time you went to one Mary was pregnant? Ringing any bells in that blonde head of yours?” He has to think about it, but the only thing he can remember is the red dress Mary wore, and the way she did her hair; dark curls swept over one shoulder, leaving the curve of her neck exposed. He took full advantage of that. They didn't stay long.

“She was miserable.” He says as he flips a page.

“If people were touching my stomach and asking a million different questions the whole time, I’d be miserable too.” It’s odd seeing Olivia talk about Mary, and so kindly. Neither one is fond of the other, not that he can blame them, Olivia has tried to get on her good side but it’s only made Mary’s dislike of her more prominent. 

“Yes, she hated that.” He mutters as he skims the pages. He isn't sure if there was any particular part of the pregnancy she did like. She was so sick in the beginning and by the end she just wanted it to be over so she could hold their son. She wanted a baby so badly, it resulted in a few fights and one big one right before she found out she was pregnant, he wanted to wait and she was tired of waiting.

It’s quiet for the most part, Olivia just sits with her hands folded in her lap, watching him read. She’s wearing a lavender dress today, it hugs her petite frame, it's a nice color, it doesn't make her look too pale like the bolder ones she sometimes wore. It’s tight but manages some degree of professionalism. Her hair falls in loose blonde waves down her shoulders. There was a time when this look would have driven him crazy but now, he can only admire that she’s a beautiful woman, there’s no need attached to it.

He’s biased really when it came to Mary there was no contest.

“Do you think you’ll have another?” She asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Child.”

“No.”

“Wow, zero hesitation.” She sounds surprised by it. He just casts his eyes back down to his work. She leans back in her chair, “I thought you liked being a father.”

“I do. And I’m a good one, but that’s...I shouldn't be talking about this with you.” He doesn't mean to sound harsh but it isn't her business and after the hell he and Mary went through with James. That would make any not desire to add any more branches to their family tree. He gets enough pestering from his mother's and his sisters, he doesn't need it from her too.

“Francis.” She says after a few brief seconds of silence. “You won't even entertain the thought?”

“My son almost died.” He snaps and then sighs, but she knows that. She visited him in the hospital, she took over for him while he stayed in the hospital with Mary. He couldn't spare a moment not being at her side, she looked so frail, so broken. 

“So, no.” He says with a little less hostility than before. She’s only curious, no reason to bite her head off.

“Does Mary know you don't-”   
“We both agreed.”

“What a waste of genes.” She says with a tsk. “You could have a girl next time, with blonde curls and pretty blue eyes. I hear Olivia is a pretty popular name these days.” Ha, if he even suggested naming their daughter Olivia, the next time the woman would see him was when she places flowers at his grave.

“I think I value my life a little more than that.”

“People name their kids after friends all the time.” She says with an amused smile. 

“Friends, not jilted exes.” 

“It was only a suggestion.” She laughs softly and then sighs and seems to go quiet for a while. She picks at the bed of her nails as she thinks. Mary does that too, when she’s nervous or upset, he used to put bandaids over her fingertips to get her to stop but she always just yanked them off at the slightest inconvenience. They were always bleeding. It’s a symptom of anxiety and since she started taking medication for it, she doesn't do it as much.

“Do you think…” She starts and then stops with a shake of her head.   
“What?”

“It’s nothing...uh stupid, really.” She breathes a laugh. “Just a thought I had.”

“Tell me.” He says seriously, straightening in his seat. 

“Do you think that if...your mother hadn't done what she did, that we would have made it?” He’s sure they would have. They had the same interests, the same goals, even now. It's like they were cut from the same cloth and he loved her dearly, as much as a sixteen-year-old could love something. He wonders if in some other world or universe, maybe they were together. He wonders how Mary would have fit in with that. Bash was with Kenna before he met her, they would have met eventually, their paths would have crossed and he’s sure he would have fallen just as hard.

“We would have had a good run.” He tells her honestly.

“Until you dumped me for the pretty brunette you have at home.” She jokes.

“I wouldn't do that.”

“Oh, you would have!” She says, “You’d be all like  _ ‘Olivia I love you but I found another,’ _ and I’d be like,  _ ‘Francis no I thought we’d be together foreeevveerrr!’”  _ She says dramatically.

“Do you really think I would have done to you?”   
“Please if Mary’s involved you wouldn't even notice if I went missing.”

“I would notice if you went missing.” He tells her with a smile because he means it. She has been a good friend to him, a good conversationalist. His phone buzzes suddenly and he clears his suddenly dry throat to reach for it.   
**Mary: ** _ “How much faster would you work to finish up if I told I was naked right now?” _ The text makes him laugh, what's under it almost chokes him. It’s soapy water and bubbles and her long legs and where did he put his keys exactly?

“Jesus Christ.” He breathes, he doesn't text her back, it would only encourage her teasing and he’s sure she doesn't want him speeding home in whatever is coming.

“What is it?” Olivia asks curiously.

“Uuuh.” He swallows, “I have to go.” He says quickly, standing abruptly and she stands too.

“Be careful.” She says, “On the way home.”

“I will.” He smiles as he puts the rest of his work in his bag, he doesn't say anything when she walks around his desk.

“This was nice, I wish we could talk like this more often.” She tells him and he does too, but if Mary ever found out, she wouldn't like it. Olivia reaches and he jumps slightly, but she just hands him a folder he almost forgot with a giggle.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She says softly. The sudden clap of thunder and cut of power makes both of them jump, Olivia sucking in a breath as she clings to him to keep from falling. He holds her up, pressed against him and when the lights flicker back to life they both breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“You okay?” He asks

“Uh...yeah, my shoe got caught in the carpet.” She laughs nervously, fingers still twisted in his shirt. It's been a long time since he'd held her like this, he never really realized how pretty her eyes were, dark green with flecks of gold and copper. He should let go and step back, he knows he should, his mind is telling him to, his limbs aren't listening. She seems to be suffering from the same affliction. 

She leans in first but he’s the one who closes the gap, who reciprocates when she tries to deepen it, who pushes her back on the desk. His fingers push her skirt up more as he places himself between her thighs and runs his fingers up the soft, warm, creamy skin. His hands pull her closer, the familiar feeling of her lips on his is intoxicating, overwhelming,  _ wrong _ . 

That doesn't stop him from reaching behind her and unzipping her dress, it doesn't stop him from running his hands down the soft skin of her back. This being wrong doesn't stop his lips from seeking out her neck, or her hands from tugging on his curls, it doesn't make their breathing less heavy.

“Francis…” His name is said on a heavy exhale, and the saying of it appears to be what snaps him out of  _ whatever this  _ was.

“Mary.” He says that suddenly as he tears himself away from her, like the thought just occurred to him, like he just remembered his beautiful, perfect, wife was waiting for him in their beautiful, perfect home. “I have to go.” He says slowly, “I’m...sorry that was...I’m sorry.” He says as he grabs his things and leaves, leaving a disheveled, confused blonde behind.

_ -/- _

The entire drive home he couldn't stop thinking about it, not the act, the fact that he can't figure out what the hell brought it on. It came out of nowhere. There were just talking and he was about to leave and then…

The rain is coming down hard, and lightning flashes light up the sky in one continuous strike it seems. He’s never seen anything like it. As he cuts the ignition, he sees Mary sitting at the kitchen table, her hair is pulled back, loose strands cling to her face, still wet from her bath. She’s munching on a piece of chocolate as she writes something down. He should get out and stop staring at her, before she notices and wonders what the hell he’s doing.    
“Francis, I thought you’d never come home.” She smiles when he comes in and makes her way over to him, throwing her arms around his wet shoulders. “Did you get my text?” She asks teasingly with a wiggle of her brows, “I thought it might motivate you.” She whispers that, bites at her lip before leaning in to kiss him, he moves his head.

“I’m sorry-”

“What’s the matter?” She asks softly, “Did someone die?” 

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okayyyy…” She looks worried, his Mary, ever the worrier. He’s quiet though, just stares at her. Her long lashes, the deep brown of her eyes, her full lips, her perfect features. She was so beautiful, everything about her was perfect. The Lord outdid himself when he created her. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He says softly, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Francis, I already want you, you don't have to butter me up.”

“No, that’s not what I-” She tries to kiss him again, but again, he avoids her lips and that makes her frown.

“What’s going on?” He wants to lie, to say work didn't go well, that he quit or he got fired, anything other than what he has to tell her. 

“I did something really dumb.” It's not just dumb, it’s catastrophic. It will destroy her, the love of his life. Her brows twist in confusion and she tilts her head before her confused frown melts into an amused smile. 

“Darling, leaving an empty milk carton in the fridge hardly calls for these dramatics.” She says soothingly, “Can we go to bed now?” 

“I was with Olivia-”   
“Aaaaannd the mood is gone.” She jokes, pulls away, but not fully. She keeps her hands on his chest, her body is still close, “That doesn't surprise me, you work with her. As unpleasant as I find it, your paths are bound to cross every now and again.” She smiles as she runs her hands down his chest, “My Francis.” She giggles like she’s reminding him, “You’re acting strange.” She says softly, running her hands back up his chest.

“Oh, my love.” It's the way he says it that makes her frown and squint at him.

“What is it?” She asks it more seriously this time. He just has to tell her, rip off the bandaid so to speak, pray to God she hears him out. 

“I...kissed her.” He says and she’s quiet for a second, gives the slightest confused shake of her head. 

“Like a friendly peck on the cheek?” She asks softly, voice barely above a whisper. She pushes off of him, exhales deeply when he shakes his head and then she’s turning away, “Say sike right now.”

“Mary, I-”

“Oh my god.” She looks like she’s about to vomit as she starts to slowly pace. “Did you...did you sleep with her?”

“No, no it didn't…”

“Didn't what?” She snaps, “Get that far?” She asks, “Oh, lucky me. I should throw the two of you a parade.”

“Mary-”

“How far did it  _ get _ ?” 

“I...unzipped her...dress…” He says softly, “I know it was stupid-”   
“You didn't have sex…”

“No.”

“But you wanted to!” That’s a snap as her hands slam down on the table in a loud thud and both their eyes find Jame’s door. It’s still shut, the light is still off and the little one appears to still be asleep.

“My love, I-”

“Oh, don't touch me!” She snaps when he reaches, “Don't ever touch me with your...Olivia stained hands.” She moves to the window now, body shaking. She hugs herself, arms tight around her body and she looks so small right now, so frail. A breeze would threaten to break her further. 

“Mary, please.” 

“Did it feel good?” She asks softly, choked, her voice is ice and her eyes don't meet his.

After she left, after the door closed and her car has pulled out of the driveway. He called her over and over and over but she didn't answer. He didn't expect her to, but he needed to try. Greer doesn't answer either, he tries Kenna and Lola, but they don't answer. The minutes feel like hours, maybe it has been hours now.

“Where’s mommy?” The soft voice makes him pause as he paces a hole in the floor and he turns to find James has woken up. He wipes at his eyes before crouching down to his height. 

“She had to go see Aunt Kenna.” He says softly, “But she’ll be back in time to take you to school.”

“She doesn't like storms.”

“I know.” He says softly, smoothing the boys' dark curls back. He’s right, she doesn't like storms. It stems from a fear every child has, but there was no one there in her formative years to help her cope, it isn't as bad as when she was a kid, but she is almost never able to sleep during one.

“But...uh. Aunt Kenna will comfort her. She’ll be okay.”

“Will she read to her?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He frowns, “Can you read to me?” He asks softly, jumping when there’s a loud boom of thunder and then more and his heart squeezes at the sight of fear replacing the worry in his brown eyes.

“Come on.” He whispers as he takes him back in his room. They barely get halfway through the book before James is asleep again and as he turns out the light and closes the door softly, there’s a knock. 

“Mary?” He questions as he turns down the hall, maybe she forgot her key. Maybe she changed her mind and came back. As he turns down the hall to the foyer, he makes a face at the flashing lights in the window. There are two officers when he opens the door, which only makes him more confused. 

There was a break in a few months ago at one of the houses down the street and they got a police visit much like this one at three in the morning. This feels different somehow. 

“Francis Valois?”

“Yes. What's this about?” He asks slowly and they share a solemn look. They look familiar, he may have seen them at the precinct, he thinks he cross-examined the one with blood on his uniform. 

“Mary Stuart.” He says and Francis makes a face. Was she speeding? Is she in a cell? She would call him though, he hopes she would at least.

“My wife.” He says softly, the love of his life. The mother of his child.

“She was in a very bad accident-”   
“How bad?”

“I think you just need to come with us.” That’s vague, that usually means the person is dead or close to it. He suddenly has images of her lying on a metal slab in a morgue or under a bloody tarp on the road, body cold and lifeless and-

“Is...are you saying she’s dead?” They don't answer him directly, they don't answer him at all, they just look sad. He can't help but think about how he’s going to have their badges as soon as this is over because they can't just keep looking at him like  _ that  _ and not tell him. It is possible that they don't know by now, that a live woman was loaded into an ambulance and taken to a hospital and died on the way.

“You need to-”   
“I can't leave, I have a son, I can't just leave him here.” He snaps, angry now at their vagueness, their inability to answer a simple question. “I need to call someone.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He says softly and then he leaves them, stomach twisting, body shaking, he seems to be running on autopilot.

“Hello?” His mother sounds tired, he feels a tinge of guilt knowing he woke her at such a late hour. “Francis?” She’s worried.

“I need you to come and get James.”

“What? Why?” She asks, “Francis do you have any idea what time-”   
“Mary’s dead.” Silence. Irrevocable, impenetrable, silence and then a long and shaky exhale.

“What?” She whispers, “Are you...sure?”

“I don't know, they won't tell me but you have to come and get James.” He can't take him with him, he doesn't know how bad it is. 

“Okay…” She says softly, “Oh my darling boy.”

“I gotta go now.” He doesn't wait for an answer before he hangs up and grabs his coat.

_ -/- _

They never talked about what would happen on the off chance that one of them died. He doesn't know what she wants, would she want to be buried? Cremated? To be kept in a fancy container on the fireplace mantle? God, turned into a tree? They don't talk about this stuff, because this stuff doesn't happen. 

“Did you know the human brain can survive for up to six minutes without oxygen?” He asks, staring at a chip in the tile on the floor. Everyone seems to be here, word spread pretty fast. Bash sits on the left of him, Kenna’s head in his lap, Greer covers her daughter with her jacket as she sleeps across from him, Lola sits on the right of him. “After four minutes it’s declared brain dead.” He adds.

“Francis.” Lola breathes with a shake of her head.

“I’m just trying to remember if she was an organ donor or not.” He says, “She’s very healthy. They would probably take all of them.” Not that he likes the thought of his wife being cut open and salvaged for parts, but, she would want to help people. 

“Don't think like that,” Lola says.

“I...we didn't talk about this…” He sighs, “I...don't know if she would want extraordinary measures taken.” He doesn't know how long she’d want to be kept on life support before she’d be okay with him taking her off. She isn't dead, the last time they updated her was two hours ago, and they said it wasn't looking good.

So, naturally. He is assuming.

“Let's just wait and see, okay?” Greer says soothingly, Bash has his hand on his shoulder and his phone rings.

“That’s my mom.” He breathes, “She keeps calling.”

“I got it,” Bash says softly as he rises and walks outside with a groggy Kenna in tow. He’s so stupid. He did this. Him and his stupid decision, she can't die. She can't. It would be too wrong, the world wouldn't move the same, everything would be so…

“She has to be okay.” He says softly, “I can't…” His head is in his hands, his chest feels like it's about to explode and Lola does her best to soothe him, but it doesn't work. 

_ -/- _

The surgery went as expected and it's the morning, he hadn't slept at all, he just stayed by her bed and watched the rise and fall of her chest, the beeping of the heart monitor, kissed her hand. She’s in the ICU, which is where he expects her to be for a while, the doctor isn't sure how much neurological damage there is, but he tells him she likely won't remember the accident.    
Maybe not even what caused it and he can't decide if that’s a blessing or a curse. He’d have to tell her all over again when she’s better and not fighting for her life. He’ll deal with that later, right now he just wants her to wake up. 

“I know you’re really mad at me…” He whispers, “But please, my love, please you have to wake up.” He whispers that into the skin of her wrist as he holds it.

“Francis.” It’s Bash, he waits out in the hall, he isn't allowed to come in. Only the immediate family. Francis stands, “There’s someone here to...see you.” He should know who it is by the sound of his voice, the way he’s looking at his brother, but he doesn't. 

He should have asked.

“What are you doing here?” That’s a snap, harsh, quick and louder than he intended. Olivia opens her mouth and then closes it.

“I...heard about the accident.” She says, “And when you didn't come to work, I got worried. David told me…”

“Well, she’s not dead if that’s what you wanted to know.” He snaps, this isn't fair. It isn't her fault, he’s the one who…

“Francis. I would never wish that…” She sounds believable, sympathetic, worried. “Is there anything I can do?” She asks. He doesn't say anything, he just turns back and looks in the glass window. Olivia is next to him, but she keeps her distance. 

“The doctor said she might not remember the accident.”

“That’s good, right?” She asks, “It’s better, I suppose, if she doesn't remember all that pain.”

“I’d have to tell her all over again.” 

“Tell her-” She stops, “Right.” She breathes, “Yes, that. Or you could...not tell her.”

“I can't not tell her.”

“She doesn't have to know, it sounds cruel, yes, but...it is true.” She pauses, “What she doesn't know can't hurt her.” He could not tell her. But what kind of life would they have? He’d be sitting on a secret, she’d be blissfully unaware, but what about him? He’ll have to live with never telling her and knowing that he caused this, this and whatever long term injuries she has from it. The guilt will crush him.

“If you’re hoping we continue that...thing in my office, you’re mistaken.” He says softly. “Look at what we brought her to.”

“You kissed me.”

“I know.”   
“I didn't ask you to.”

“I know.” He says again, “And it cannot and will not happen again, you have my word.”

“You didn't feel anything?” She asks that softly, like she thought he somehow fell for her, like she thought this meant he’d be free to have her. If Mary were to never wake up, he’d be all hers 

“I felt…” He says softly, “Regret.” He pulls away from the glass to head back in the room, “Please go.”


	11. No Love Like Our Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This had to be broken into two parts, enjoy.   
Very mild sexual content. Very.

It’s quiet when he finishes, he’s waiting for her to say something. She isn't sure there is much for her to say. There’s so much she doesn't know and may never remember, and by the looks of things, he wasn't intending on telling her this and maybe he was hoping she would never remember it. She doesn't know what to feel, or think, in this precise moment all she feels is confused. He cheated on her and she left in a fit of rage and she may never be the same again. 

“You’re right.” She says softly as she slides her hand out of his, “We’re both tired.” When she woke up in the hospital, she remembers feeling like a ghost that was inhabiting someone else's body, surrounded by strangers who looked like people she knew but had no recollection of. This feels like that. 

“Mary, is that all you’re going to say?” He asks as she stands, keeping the fleece blanket from the couch firmly wrapped around her shoulders. She hears him get up a moment later as she heads for the stairs. “Mary-”

“I don't remember the fight.” She says softly, “So. I don't really know what to say.” It doesn't feel great knowing he indulged in another woman and one Mary, allegedly, didn't trust. That he initiated it, that he kissed her first, but he told her when her memories were intact, and now they’re not and doesn't know what to feel or to say. His betrayal then made her what she is now. 

“I’m upset that you didn't tell me in the beginning, maybe this wouldn't hurt so much.” She tells him, “and I’m angry that you lied to me when I asked you who she was.”

“I-”

“Are you coming?” She asks stopping momentarily on the stairs.

“What?”

“To bed?”

“Oh, I thought…” He trails off and she makes a face. Did he think she’d banish him from their bed? She’s far too used to him now, it would be weird if he wasn't there.

“You’ve slept on the couch enough.” She sighs as she climbs the stairs and she doesn't know if he follows, she climbs on the bed. She doesn't bother turning on the lights or getting under the covers, she has the blanket from the couch wrapped around her and she supposes that’s enough. Francis does come in a moment later and he changes before climbing into bed with her. She keeps her back to him but she can feel his eyes on her.

“Mary.”

“Don't touch me, please.” She whispers when she feels him reach and she doesn't know if the sigh is him trying to relax or if it's disappointment in the fact that she has kept her body above the covers while he is under them. 

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m fine.” She tells him and it feels like hours before he finally stops looking at her, before his breathing slows and steadies, she just keeps her eyes on the door, tracing the shape in the dark with her eyes. 

Eventually, when sleep doesn't find her, she gets up and heads downstairs. She goes as quietly as she can and cracks open the door to her little one's room, it's dark and he’s sleeping and if she’s really quiet she would like to just sit with him. 

It would have gone as planned had she not stepped on some contraption that makes noise that accompanies a shout of her own. 

“Mom?” The little voice is quiet, tired, and wrapped in interrupted sleep. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.” She whispers.

“What are you doing?”

“I...can't sleep.” She says softly, “I’m sorry, I’ll go-”   
“No.” He says quickly when she turns, he doesn't say anything, he just pulls his own blankets back and moves over. The bed is small, definitely not meant for a full-sized adult, her foot dangles off the bed, the blankets barely cover her, but it's fine. He rests his head on her chest and it’s quiet.

“The heaviest dinosaur in the world is the argentinosaurus.” He tells her softly, “It weighed over seventy-seven tons.”

“Wow, really?”

“That’s more than fifteen elephants combined.”

“Fifteen, huh?”

“Give or take.” He says matter of factly and it makes her giggle.

“How do you know that? Did you weigh it yourself?”

“No, they’re dead.”

“Ah, thanks for clarifying.” She whispers. 

“You’re welcome.” He sighs, he sounds tired and she feels bad for waking him up, but he doesn't seem to mind as he snuggles closer to her. “Why aren't you in your bed? With dad?”

“Hm.” She sighs, “He takes up too much room.” She says simply, it's an answer she just pulled off the top of her head, but it's an answer nonetheless and he seems to accept it. “If he wakes up and finds me gone, he might come and steal me.”

“No.” He pouts, arms tightening and she presses a kiss to his soft curls. 

“I didn't say I’d let him.” She pulls the blanket up around him and after a while, his grip on her loosens and his breathing steadies against her. He’s asleep and she just lies there, staring at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. She wonders if she put them there, if all three of them did it together. 

_ -/- _

_ The fireplace crackles and pops next to them, casting a warm yellow glow over them both. Their breathing is still heavy, sweat still clings to their bodies and the heavy blanket has fallen at their waist. It leaves her chest exposed but she gave up trying to cover up around Francis a long time ago.  _

_ “The movers will be here on Monday,” Mary tells him as she toys with his wedding ring. They’ll have a bed, no more sleeping on piles of blankets and pillows in what would soon be their living room. They had an air mattress, it didn't last long. Francis is propped up on his elbow, looking down at her fondly as his hand reaches and traces the chain around her neck, he traces it down past her collarbone, down to the valley of her breasts, where he twists the charm.  _

_ “I wish we could stay like this forever.” He says softly, “No responsibilities, no interruptions-” _

_ “No clothes.” She adds with a smirk. “Though if you see me like this all the time, you might get tired of me.” _

_ “Never.” He chuckles as he leans down to nip at her collarbone and then press warm kisses up her neck to her jawline, to her cheek and then finally her lips.  _

_ “I can't believe we didn't get the other house.” She pouts, it was stunning and everything she wanted, the spiral staircase was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. _

_ “Do you not like this one?” He pulls away slightly, confused. _

_ “I do. I love this one.” She assures him, “It’s weird driving passed the other one because every time I see the owner I think about how we had sex in their pantry.” And almost got caught by the realtor but that’s another story for a different day.  _

_ “It was your idea.” He reminds her, he likes to remind her of that, how she was the one who pulled him in and closed the door.  _

_ “Worrrtth iiitt.” She giggles as he leans down and catches her lips in something slow and he pushes her back under him and she sinks her hand in his hair.  _

_ “Oh for the love of God.” He groans when his phone starts to ring, “One second.” He says as he rolls off of her and searches through the mixture of their discarded clothes. “What?” His tone makes her laugh, he sounds very annoyed.  _

_ “Who is it?” She whispers and he mouths, Charles. “What does he want?” Her question is met with a shrug and then an eye roll. _

_ “Did you call mom?” Pause, “Don't you think maybe you should?” He’s staring up at the ceiling, not paying attention to her, that is until she runs her nails up his thigh. It makes him jump a little bit and she stifles a laugh. He doesn't say anything, he can't, he just nods along to whatever his brother is talking about as she climbs over him. He only gives her a confused look as she leans down and presses a quiet kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then her lips trails down his jaw, his beard tickles her mouth, and then down his neck. She only pauses to gauge the reaction but he’s too busy talking to Charles to really notice. So she does the only thing she can think of to do. _

_ She bites him.  _

_ It makes him suck in a breath and glare at her but she just smiles innocently. _

_ “I’m gonna call you back, get her some water and food.” He says and then he’s tossing his phone somewhere and before she knew it, she’s on her back. “You’re in trouble.” _

_ “Wait what’s going on?” _

_ “Claude’s drunk, it's a thing.” _

_ “It’s two in the afternoon?” _

_ “Stop trying to distract me.” He smirks as he pulled the blankets over both of their heads. “It's my turn.” _

_ -/- _

“Mary,” His voice makes her groan as he tugs on the hem of her shirt, “Maryyyy.” He tugs some more and when she cracks open her eyes, she’s met with a small and empty bed. That was a good dream, a really good dream and so warm. Safe. But now the cold reality slaps her in the face and she’s cold. “Good morning,” Francis says softly as she sits up and rubs at her eyes. She thought he’d be gone by now, Francis at work and James at school and she’d be able to think about what he told her last night. He’s still here though and she doesn't know how she feels about it. She’s pulling the blanket back around her shoulders.

“I was worried when I woke up and you weren't...next to me.” Did he think she left in the middle of the night, slinked out of their house like a gutter rat with no idea where she was going or how to get there? She shakes her head and stands and brushes passed him, James is in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal and she smiles as she passes him, brushing his dark curls back. 

“I won't be home as late tonight. I’ll be able to pick up James from school if everything goes as planned in court today.” She doesn't say anything as she pours a cup of coffee, she feels his hand find the small of her back as he reaches for something. She doesn't want it there. She jerks away.

“Mary?” He seems intent to keep talking to her despite her making it obvious she doesn't want to engage in conversation with him. So she walks away, through the living room, to the hall, to the stairs. “So, you’re just not going to talk to me then?” She doesn't say anything, “That’s fine, I wouldn't want to talk to me either.” He pauses, “Mary…”

“Have a nice day.” She tells him softly as she starts to climb the stairs.

“Are you going to  _ have a nice day, _ me for the rest of our lives?” He asks and he doesn't sound mad, he just sounds upset and that makes her upset and maybe that’s why the words come out the way they do.

“Say hello to Olivia for me.” She doesn't stop climbing and he doesn't say anything to it, she didn't even look to see if he reacted. 

_ -/- _

_ “I want a baby.” It flies out of her mouth when she was planning on easing into the subject. Francis freezes completely as he reaches in his dresser drawer for a shirt.  _

_ “Huh?” He asks as he turns, shifting the towel around his waist. He just got out of the shower, his hair is still wet, water rolls down his chest and his arms. He looks like a wet puppy, and she’d be more turned on if he wasn't looking at her like she just broke out of the looney bin. _

_ “I was just thinking…” She says softly, picking at her nails, “How cute it would be…”  _

_ “Um…” He swallows, “Where...would we put it?” He asks softly.  _

_ “Okay.” She jumps up from the bed, “The bassinet would go here.” She points by the bed, “We would want them close.” _

_ “Hold on.” He says quickly, “Them?” _

_ “Twins run in my family.” She says softly, she didn't know she didn't tell him that.  _

_ “Twins.” _

_ “My mom was a twin.” It died before it was born though, she doesn't remember who told her that, maybe her mom.  _

_ “They run in my family too.” He doesn't say that like it’s a declaration of a fun fact they happen to have in common. It’s a terrified whisper. She smiles as she looks around, they live in a small studio apartment, it barely fits the two of them but they could maybe fit a third if they tried hard enough. A fourth might be pushing it. _

_ “Oh, okay, fun!” She giggles. _

_ “Mary, look at me.” He says after a moment of silence when she doesn't, he turns her head to look at him. “I love you-” _ __   
_ “Noo, no don't say no-” _ _   
_ __ “Is this because Greer just had hers?”

_ “She’s cute…” She says softly, “But no.”  _

_ “Um…” _

_ “That’s a no.” _

_ “It’s a ‘not right now.’” He says softly, gently, and she frowns, “Let's get a house first, I’ll be licensed soon, have a steady job. Then we can…” _

_ “Until something else comes up.” _

_ “Mary-” _

_ “No, you’re right, it was a stupid idea.” _

_ “I didn't say that.” He says on a sigh as she sits back on the bed. _

_ “You didn't have to.” Maybe she’s being unfair, and maybe that’s why he reacts the way he does. _

_ “Can we do this when I’m dressed?” He snaps, it makes her jump and not meet his eyes as she picks and picks at her nail bed and tries not to let it get to her. He doesn't say anything else, he just grabs the rest of his clothes and goes in the bathroom. Maybe she picks too much, she wasn't paying attention to it, but there’s blood when he comes back. _

_ “You’re bleeding.” He says when he comes back and climbs on the bed to sit in front of her, taking her hand in his, “Babe, you have to stop doing this, your hands are too pretty to be covered in scabs.” He wipes the blood away with his thumb, reaching in his nightstand for a band-aid. _

_ “You yelled at me.” _

_ “I know, I’m sorry.” He says with a shake of his head as he smooths the band-aid around the tip of her thumb, “Stress...and that came out of absolutely nowhere...I just…” He sighs as he lifts her wound to his lips, pressing a small quick kiss to it, “Better?” She nods.  _ _   
_ _ It isn't. _

_ -/- _

She just sits on the edge of the bed and watches the steam rise from her coffee cup, until the steam stops and the liquid turns to ice. She remembers a baby or the want of one and the sad, sickening feeling of disappointment. She remembers a house with a spiral staircase, a gold band on someone's finger, warmth. The two don't mix well and yet they do, the cold melds with the safe and warm feeling but she can't figure it out. 

They might as well just be static and noise. She sits and she thinks and thinks and thinks until she can't anymore. She doesn't know how much time had passed until she hears the closing of a door and footsteps downstairs.

He’s home early. He was maybe gone for three hours but she finds him in the kitchen on the phone, back turned to her, a frustrated rush of air comes from his mouth as he runs his fingers through his hair. 

“If they don't show tomorrow, I’ll have to drop the charges.” He says softly, “I don't like it either but it's out of my hands.” He’s on the phone for a few more seconds before hanging up and she almost asks who that was, but she drops the question. “Are you going to say anything or are you just going to stare?” He jokes, it's meant to be playful, light, but it falls on her ears like a weight and she turns. “Three of my witnesses didn't show today.” He tells her as he turns around and she swallows. That sucks. 

“What are you gonna do?” She asks softly, she is curious to know. He just shrugs. 

“There isn't much I can do.” He says softly, he looks frustrated, annoyed, sad, “But that’s alright, I get to spend more time with you.” Any other day she would find that sweet and it might even make her smile, but today it just feels like damage control. She opens her mouth and then closes it and when that seems to worry him, she walks over. 

“Mary?” He questions when she grabs his hand and turns it over in her own and runs her fingers over the band of his wedding ring. “What?” It's cold compared to the warmth of his hand and she wonders if Olivia felt the difference too. If she could feel the coldness of his wedding ring as he ran his hands down the bare skin of her back. The thought sends a sickening shudder through her and she whimpers as she takes a hard step back. 

She doesn't know what she was thinking. Of course, Olivia would have felt the difference. She sits in front of the fire, watches the flames move and crackles and pops. This doesn't feel like her house, her body,  _ her _ . She seems to just be moving on autopilot now. She remembered something, she just can't figure out what, she thought it had to do with this spot, she doesn't know. It feels she doesn't know anything anymore. She wonders what else he’s lied to her about.

“Mary.” His voice is soft, careful, as he sits next to her, “I’m usually good with words, but I find myself unable to come up with the right ones to fix this.” That’s because he can't fix it, no amount of pretty words or well-crafted sentences can fix it. The damage has been done and she has to decide to move on or make more. She must have really done something stupid to piss the universe off for it to make her husband do something so…

Before nearly killing her.

She swallows and looks at him and the words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them. 

“Can I touch you?” She asks and he quirks a brow, looks genuinely confused by her question.

“What?”

“Forget it.” She says in a rush of air as she tries to stand, but he grabs her arm, keeps her where she is. He gives her a nod, a confused one but there it is. She’s just following whatever her body is telling her to do and to be quite frank, she’s just as confused as he is. 

No words are exchanged as she reaches and her hand crawls up his thigh lightly, experimentally. She knows if she tries to go any further than halfway, he’d probably stop her, or maybe he wouldn't. She doesn't really want to take it that far. She abandons the blanket around her as she climbs in his lap, stops him from wrapping his arm around her. Her fingers are shaking when she reaches to push his suit jacket off, and then when she reaches to undo his tie. She swats his hand away when he tries to help her. Something is coming back and she has to do this herself. 

_ He’s warm, _ She thinks,  _ and yet his actions were cold. _ Her fingers slowly make their way through buttons upon buttons on his shirt, fingers tentatively running over the hard ridge of his collarbone. She lets her body take over, she doesn't think about it, she leaves her mind somewhere else. She runs her hands over the soft junction of skin where his neck meets his shoulder and she somehow got closer, as more skin is revealed to her and the more her hands explore. They’re nose to nose now, but every time he chases her lips, she pulls back.

“Don't kiss me.” She whispers, but it's less than a whisper, more like a breath and she isn't even sure if he heard her. She shoves his shirt down his arms and he pushes it the rest of the way off. 

She thinks maybe this is just a way to make her remember something, what she felt earlier had to do with this spot, the fireplace, the warm yellow glow of it on flesh. She wants to remember that safe feeling, his skin under her fingers, his hands on hers. 

She’s running out of places to touch and she’s not really sure she wants to stop, she can feel him coming to life under her and maybe that’s why her hips move without her giving them permission to. After all, her body knows him better than she does. He’s probably dying to get his hands on her, this is probably torture for him. 

“Kiss me.” That’s said on a heavy breath, a desperate plea for something more than this and she doesn't have to tell him twice. His lips are hard on hers before she can get the request out completely and then his hands follow suit, one at the small of her back and the other rests on her hip, guiding her in a movement that’s more beneficial to both of them. She’s sure if he wanted to he could just lift her up and move them to the couch, or just push her back so he can take over, she’d probably let him. He doesn't do any of that, he just kisses her like his life depends on it. 

She thinks she wants more than this, she thinks she wants skin on skin, flesh on flesh on flesh. She’s sinking her fingers in his hair when he does it, he lifts her shirt up a little and she lifts it the rest of the way off. She doesn't give him time to look before she’s pulling him back to her mouth and there it is. Flesh on flesh, chest to chest. His hands crawl up and down her back while his lips find her neck and she thinks maybe this is heaven, that it can't get any better than this.

“Mary,” His breath is warm on her neck, “I want you…” 

It hits her like a brick, like ice water, like a truck. What is she doing? What are they doing? The man just admitted to cheating on her less than twenty-four hours ago and here she is...writhing in his lap? Is she an idiot?

“No.” She scrambles back, uses the blanket on the floor that she abandoned earlier to cover herself as she stands, “I’m sorry.” It comes out in a choke as she turns away.

_ -/- _

_ She’s been walking around the house with him, rocking him, shushing him, she even tried singing to him and she doesn't sing. He won't calm down, he just keeps screaming.  _

_ “Jaammmeesss.” She says sweetly, “I promise the world will not end while you’re sleeping.” She whines, “It’s okay.” She cooes, she bounces him on her hip, gently pushes his head to the crook of her neck, kisses his sweaty hair.  _

_ “What on earth is going on?” Francis asks as he walks down the stairs looking deliciously disheveled.  _

_ “I’m sorry, I know you have to get up early and I didn't want to wake you, I can't calm him down.” She says, words all rushing together as she tries to soothe the screaming toddler and her husband, who’s looking at her like she’s insane. “I think something is wrong.” _

_ “Give him here.” Francis reaches but she just walks out of his reach. _

_ “No, I have it, go back to bed.” _

_ “With all due respect, my love, you don't.” He says with an amused smirk, “Give me my son before he bursts a lung.” When he reaches this time, she hands him over. His amused smirk is replaced with a worried frown. _

_ “What?” He doesn’t answer as he presses the back of his hand to Jame’s forehead and then his cheeks, his neck.  _

_ “How long has he had this fever?” He asks as he carries him somewhere else and Mary follows as her heart drops to her stomach and then twists with worry and her head fills with worst-case scenarios. _

_ “Fever?” _

_ “You could fry an egg on his head, hun,” Francis tells her as he carries their screaming child to the bathroom. He’s sifting through a draw and then the medicine cabinet before presenting a thermometer to her. “Under the arm, twenty seconds.” He instructs as he soothes and she does as she’s told.  _

_ “What does it say?” He asks when she pulls it up and looks. _

_ “104.2” They try stripping him down to just his diaper to get it down, it doesn't work. Francis tries putting him in a lukewarm bath, it doesn't work. Sponges dipped in cold water don't work either, it just keeps going up and by the hour mark Mary isn't much help, she’s too busy freaking out.  _

_ “Baby, you have to try and calm down,” Francis says as he comes around the car and takes her shaking hands, two fingers are bleeding now and he stops her from ripping a chunk out of a third. They’re going to the hospital, the emergency room, but in her opinion, they aren't moving fast enough.  _

_ “I can't.” _

_ “Yes, you can.” She just shook her head, “This is probably nothing, kids get sick all the time.” It doesn't feel like anything, her motherly intuition is telling it's really bad, but Francis doesn't ask for her opinion, he just pushes her in the back with James. He stopped screaming, but he’s still whimpering and she shushes him, strokes his cheeks, kisses his little hands.  _

_ “Don't call anyone.” She tells him as he drives, “Your mother...she’ll only freak out.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “And for god sake, drive faster.”  _

_ “Mary, it’s going to be okay.” He says soothingly, “They’ll give him some medicine, his fever will go down, and we’ll take him home.” All of that is true, and the most likely scenario, but they can do that at home. It doesn't ease her worry, but it does help to see that Francis is speeding, so at least she isn't alone in her worry.  _

_ “You’re speeding.” _

_ “Do you want me to slow down?” _

_ “No.” She sniffles, no she’d like it more if he sped up.  _

_ -/- _

He doesn't come after her, not at first, she has time to pull a shirt on over her head and sit on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands. That was dumb, like really dumb, what was she hoping to accomplish? 

“I just wanted to remember…” She cries when he comes in and he’s dressed now, so he didn't come here to finish what she started.

“Hey…” He says soothingly, “Remember what?” He asks as he sits next to her, rubs her back, he tries to pull her in his arms but she refuses to go. 

“I don't know. I thought I remembered something...but I don't know.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s just bits and pieces from a million different things, I can't-”

“Try.” 

“No.” She stands up as she wipes angrily at her eyes and he stands too, watching with concern as she starts to pace, frowning at the way she jerked from him when he reached. “I…” She swallows, “Why did you have to tell me?”

“What?”

“Why couldn't you just keep it to yourself!?” She asks angrily, “I never would have left if you had just kept it to yourself.”

“I had to tell you because keeping it from you would have made everything worse-”   
“In what way!?” She shrieks, “Look at me!” It's a shout into the void, frustration finally cracks to the surface, “If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have left, if I hadn't left, I wouldn't be like this. The only way this could have been worse is if I had died.”

“Mary-”

“And I can't even see how that would be worse.” She says that finally, what she’s been feeling since the accident, she finally breathes life to it. 

“Don’t say that.” He sounds angry that she even thought it, that she even formed the words, that she let them out of her mouth. “Mary-”

“At least in death, I would have known my own son.” She says, “It would have been a lot easier to explain to him than ‘ _ hey your mom doesn't know you exist _ ’”

“No, it wouldn't have been easier.” He snaps, “Then we’d have to grieve you and I’d have to get used to a life without you and that doesn't sound easy.”

“Olivia was right.” She says suddenly, “You could have left me and it wouldn't have made a difference. I would have never known you existed, or James…”

“Stop-”

“Why did she say that?” She asks, moving out of the way when he comes for her, effectively dodging his arms. “Hm? Since we’re on the topic. Why did she suggest that you leave me?”

“I don't know-”   
“You do.”

“Mary-”   
“Answer the question!” She shouts it, and he steps back, he just sits on the bed with a heavy sigh. He doesn't seem willing to yell back. 

“A few days before you woke up, she visited a few times.”

“Checking if I was dead, you mean.”   
“No.” He says, “She overheard the doctor tell me that the brain injury was worse than they thought and they had to go back in to fix it.” He explains, “After I signed the consent form, he told me that it might be difficult for you to...I don't know, function.” He shakes his head, “I barely listened, I just wanted them to...help you in whatever way that they could. But...I was told you might not remember anything at first.” He twists his wedding ring, “And I don't know, Olivia, she made a joke-”   
“Joking on my deathbed.”

“She said that it was a clean slate, you could start over and have a new life and I could leave and...you would never have to know that I existed.” All she hears in that is that he was going to take her son and leave and she’d never know and suddenly it becomes too hard to breathe. 

“If I woke up without my memories or my ability to...function, you were going to leave with my son and forget about me.”

“No.”

“That’s not what you just said?” She asks it’s more like a choke, “No, don't touch me.” She cries and shoves him when he tries to grab her, she shoves and she shoves and she shoves. “I thought you loved me!”

“I do!”

“Then what the hell is wrong with you!?” She shrieks as she shoves him again but this time he grabs hold of her wrists and he stops her. 

“I love you.” He says, “I swear to god, Mary, I could never do that to you, I would never-”

“I thought you were perfect.” She swallows, “These last few weeks I thought you were too good to be true…”

“Mary, listen-”

“No.” She twists out of his arms, “I don't want to listen to any more of your excuses.” 

“Mary, that night was the worst night of my life. I didn't sleep at all the first few days, whatever I said during that time, I can assure you I didn't mean.” And maybe that’s true, maybe sleep deprivation had him saying a lot of things he didn't mean, or doing things he didn't mean to do, whatever. She can't see a way to move past this and maybe he can't either. 

“I love you.” He breathes as he steps towards her and she’s too exhausted to fight off his arms so she just let him pull her in. “I’m so sorry…” 

“I don't want her to take you away.” She cries into his shirt and he kisses her hair. “She can't…”

“She won't. She won't, I promise, I’m yours.”


	12. The Longest Walk

She doesn't know how long they stay like that, her head pressed in the crook of his neck, his arms tight around her body. She thinks she wants to stay like this, warm, safe, only a little heartbroken. She supposes all good things come to an end, ignores the ache she feels when he pulls away. 

“I have to go pick up James.” He says on a sigh, “Come with me?” She thinks about it but shakes her head at the request.

“I think…” She wipes at her eyes, still wet from her tears, “I think I should lie down.” Her voice is hoarse as well, her throat is raw, and her stomach twists at the slight dip in the corners of his mouth, but he nods. “I didn't sleep much last night.” She explains, there’s no need to, he knows. But she does anyway, maybe it’s just an attempt to fill the silence that spreads like a sheet over them.

“Right.” He says slowly, softly, “I won't be long.” He tells her, there’s only a subtle hint of disappointment in his voice and his face when she moves out of his reach and sits on the edge of the bed. He says something else but she doesn't catch it before he leaves. 

She listens to his feet hit the floor down the hall, the fall of them against the stairs, the short pause before the sound of keys and then the faint thud of a door closing and only then she lets out the breath she’s been holding.

She doesn't know what happens now, doesn't know where they go from here. He blames himself for what happened to her and she blames him too, only a little. By his account, he couldn't have stopped her from leaving if she was so determined to go. It’s her fault as much as it is his. She wonders for a fleeting second if Olivia took some accountability as well, if when she visited the hospital if she whispered an apology to Mary’s unconscious form. She doesn't know Olivia, but she couldn't be a terrible person, Francis wouldn't have loved her if she was a terrible person. 

Love. That’s such a heavy word. Francis loves her, but does she love him? She knows that she did at one point in their lives, but could she still? Will it come back? Was she already beginning to feel it?

Mary runs her hands over her face with a sigh, holds her head in her hands. She just needs to think, that’s it. Being alone will allow her to do that, but Francis will be back soon with James and she won't be alone anymore and her thoughts will be pushed aside for a different day until they don't matter anymore. And then what?

A shower sounds good, prime thinking environment, so that’s how she ends up shuffling to the bathroom and turning on the water, testing the temperature before pulling her shirt off. She wonders for a second if her other shirt still lays on the floor in their living room, abandoned by the fireplace. The steam filling the room settles on her skin, making it sticky and heavy and she locks the door for no reason before she steps in. 

She doesn't end up doing much, she just stands under the spray, hot water hitting her body as she watches it run down her limbs, to the floor, to the drain. 

_ -/- _

_ “Francis, I don't feel good about this.” She says suddenly, watching him shove their bags in the trunk of his car, he doesn't say anything right away.  _

_ “It’ll be fine.” He says with a small smile that has her believing his words despite the twist in her stomach. “It will only be a few days, a week at most.” They’re going to his family's cabin. In the woods. A whole five hours away from their tiny apartment. It’s what they do, apparently, for the holidays. Everyone will be there, except for Bash. He spends the day with his mother, Diane, who isn't invited. _

_ “I…” She starts quietly, she tried to beg him not to make her go, to let her stay home, alone, like she always did. His mother insisted, however, that she join them. It would come soon anyway, they couldn't just be together and never meet his family.  _

_ “They will love you,” Francis says soothingly as he comes around the car and takes her hand in his. “Just as I love you.” _

_ “And if they don't?” _

_ “Their loss.” He shrugs, “There is one thing-” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Maybe...uh, take this off.” He says cautiously, fingers finding the engagement ring resting on her finger. The diamond gleams in what little sunlight there is on this cloudy day. She frowns. _

_ “They...they don't know we’re-” _

_ “They will.” He says softly, “Once they get to know you.” _

_ “Once you’ve tested the waters to make sure you’re not making a huge mistake, you mean?” She asks with a quirk of her brow. _

_ “No, if they hate you I’m still marrying you.” He says, “It’ll just make the wedding a little bit awkward.”  _

_ “No pressure.” _

_ “None.” He breathes a laugh, “Just be you, Mary, everything else will fall into place.” He gives her ring a light tug before it slips off her finger with ease. She frowns as she rubs her ringless finger, already grieving the loss. Francis just tucked it in his pocket, promising to find somewhere safer for it later.  _

_ “I suppose I can't persuade you to let me stay home.” _

_ “Nope.” _ _   
_ _ “What if I say I’m sick?” _

_ “Are you?” He asks with a smirk. She shakes her head, “Then get in the car.” _

_ - _

_ The cabin is...well, it's huge. It's more mansion-Esque than cabin-Esque. Even in her post-nap haze, it’s grand. The snow crunches under her boots as she gets out of the car. There’s no sign of the street and they’re surrounded by large pines, a great place for someone to go missing and she wonders how many girls have come with Francis here. She takes her eyes off the cabin to look at Francis as he pops the trunk.  _

_ “You should see the inside.” He tells her as he pulls their bags out. He’s about to say something else before there’s a shout of his name and he barely has time to react before something is propelled into his arms. “Ow. Hi.” He laughs softly.  _

_ “Francis!” She squeals happily, “I have so much to tell you.” She says as she pulls back and Mary just blinks because the girl obviously has no idea she’s standing here.  _

_ “As do I, but first.” He says quickly before spinning her around. “Meet Mary.” He smiles, “This is my sister Margot. And Margot, this is Mary.” There’s only a flicker of confusion before it’s replaced with a kind smile and then she’s coming closer.  _

_ “We’re really happy you’re here.” She says, “You’re so pretty!” It’s genuine, a compliment, not mixed with malice or sarcasm and Mary feels herself relax a bit. Margot is pretty too, she has long dark hair, big round eyes. She’s the youngest of them all and yet she’s only a little shorter than Francis, not how Mary imagined at all, she imagined a child, pigtails and missing teeth, awkward teenage growth, but no she’s standing beside a young woman.  _

_ “You’ll be sharing a room with me and Claude, but don't worry, she’s nice.” Margot is saying as she links her arm with Mary and leads her towards the stairs, she sends a look over her shoulder at Francis, one she can only describe as pure terror. He just sends back a reassuring smile as he closes the trunk.  _

_ “Not...with...uh-” _

_ “Mother doesn't allow it. But if you want to sneak off to his room, we won't say anything.” She says with a little wiggle of her eyebrows. _

_ -/- _

The sun will be setting soon and the breeze is cool against her freshly showered skin. Francis isn't back yet and she thinks maybe he stopped somewhere for a little bit, maybe the store, maybe his mother's, she doesn't know but she cherishes the time she gets alone. It’s so quiet where they live, she wonders if anyone actually lives in the houses that line the street. 

Mary sighs as she thinks about what to tell Francis. What happens after all of this. She supposes she could just forgive him, she doesn't think it will ever happen again. She could move on, they could and it’d be fine. It would be fine until she remembers the fight and is angry all over again. She could leave the conversation to future Mary, the one who has all of her memories intact, leave it to her to react. 

How can you forget and move on from something you can't even remember happening? She only has his word to go off of. He told her they didn't have sex, that means they didn't have sex. Francis seems like an honest person unless he lied and they  _ did _ and he told her they didn't in order to spare her feelings. He could be twisting the truth since she doesn't remember what he told her to begin with, to make the blow less impactful. 

Would he do that though? She feels like she never really knew him.

She doesn't know how long she just stands on the step before stepping down, but her legs are moving and she follows. She walks to the side of the house, to the garage, around back. Then she’s out on the sidewalk. She’s spent so long stuck in the house she’s hardly gotten a look at the neighborhood they live in, a walk couldn't hurt. So, that’s what she does. She walks around the block and then around two blocks, and then down a different that leads to another, and then she’s on a corner with a church. 

It looks like the church her mother used to drop her off at, the one she left her on Christmas and then never came back. It’s not the same of course, that one was torn down not long after that. She pauses to look at it, to admire the stainless steel glass, the light in the windows, the little sign in the front and then she keeps walking. It doesn't register that she should head home while she still can and while she still remembers the way back, no, not until the sun sinks lower and lower and the sky gets darker and darker. Not until the temperature dips and white flurries start to drift down from the sky. 

Francis will be angry if he comes home to find her gone, he’ll think she left him, but where would she go? She doesn't have a means of transportation, her phone doesn't even work so calling a friend to come get her isn't possible. 

She stops and turns to head back but she can’t seem to remember which road she took to get to this point, which way she came, how to get back. The longer she stands there on the sidewalk and puzzles over it, the darker and colder it gets and soon the flurries that come down turn into ice or rain. It’s wet but also cold and it slices through her sweater. 

_ He must be going out of his mind,  _ she thinks,  _ Just what did you think was going to happen?  _ She shakes her head, successfully shakes away the thought that he might call Olivia. It’s unfounded, unnecessary, he wouldn't call her about Mary going missing. She turns on the sidewalk, bites at her lip as she furrows her brows together and just tries to think about where she is. She can't be far and she’s sure their house is close by, she just has to remember what way she went. 

_ Yes, Remember, because that’s an easy thing for you to do. _ She swallows and just keeps walking, something will happen, a street sign will look familiar, and she’ll find her way in their yard and inside in no time. 

-/-

_ Margot takes her inside, chatting in her ear, her arm never leaves hers, even after she takes her coat. The inside is warm, inviting and cheery, wood panel walls and hardwood floors. There’s a large red rug stretching out from the fireplace, and a tree stand resting off to the side. No tree though, which she found odd. Christmas was in three days and they didn't have a tree yet.  _

_ “Claude, you’re supposed to be helping!” Is a loud shout from what she suspects is the kitchen and they turn the corner in time to see the young girl roll her eyes dramatically as she pulls her auburn curls back and ties them away from her face. “Must I do everything?” Is a mutter from the faceless voice.  _

_ “Mom, Francis’ friend is here,” Claude says unenthusiastically as she turns away and heads back in the kitchen. It’s quiet for an unsettling amount of time before Margot is tugging her towards the source of the voice, and then she’s in the kitchen and watching Claude observe as she pops a handful of chocolate chips in her mouth. She’s glad Margot is next to her but is overwhelmed by the desperate urge to flee when she turns to look at her. Francis warned her before they came that Catherine is...not the warmest to his girlfriends and has successfully run a lot of them out of town if they didn't measure up to her standards. She wishes he’d come in now. She smiles a smile that Mary thinks is supposed to be warm and inviting but it comes off forced and cold as she pulls off her oven mitts.  _

_ “Mary,” She says with a smile, “You’re related to Marie Guise?” _

_ “She’s my mom…” _

_ “Oh.” She smiles at that, “I knew her in college. A very long time ago, is she well? What does she do now?” _

_ “Mostly...drugs.” The choking sound Claude makes in the background tells her that isn't the correct answer and Mary has to fight pretty hard to stop herself from cringing. “But she’s clean now…” She thinks.  _

_ “She’s an addict.” Catherine sounds less than impressed by it as she turns to the beeping oven. She shakes her head, “Unfortunate, she had so much potential.” Margot squeezes her hand as Claude makes a wow face and pops more chocolate in her mouth. “What do you do?” _

_ “I’m...a waitress.” _ _   
_ _ “A waitress.” She says with fake enthusiasm, “How lovely.” _

_ “It’s just temporary.” _

_ “I see.” This is awkward, really awkward, where did Francis go?  _

_ “So, Mary, did you meet Francis in school?” Claude speaks up and she’s grateful for the question, not so much for what it leads to.  _

_ “No. We went to different schools.” She realizes her mistake too late, the use of something past tense instead of present tense.  _

_ “Went?” Catherine turns around after setting a tray of dough in the oven and setting a timer, “Did you already graduate?” Mary swallows hard before answering. _

_ “No.” She says softly, “I...uh...didn't finish.”  _

_ “Didn't finish.” _

_ “Personal reasons.” Her mom overdosing in the bathroom and having to spend most of her time attending meetings with her to make sure the woman actually went, it got in the way of a lot of things. Francis understands because he was present for it, and she communicated it to him, he became the person she confided in about everything. But she doesn't have time to explain that to this woman who’s staring at her like she’s the worst idea her son has ever had.  _

_ “But maybe one day.” She adds after a beat of silence.  _

_ “Amen.” Claude raises a handful of chocolate chips in the air as a makeshift wine glass. “What?” She asks when Catherine gives her a look that can only be described as a million daggers shooting out of her eyes.  _

_ “There you are.” It’s Francis, “I was looking for you.” He smiles and she’s thankful that he’s back because she isn't sure how much longer she could chit-chat with his mother and survive it. He greets his family and then is leading Mary back outside, where they sit on the front steps and watch the snow come down. _

_ “Your mom doesn't like me.” She tells him softly. _

_ “My mother doesn't like anyone.” He says, “Not even my father.” She hasn't met him yet, but god she hopes he isn't as...judgey. Francis is trying to be playful, to joke, try and lighten her mood but it isn't working.  _

_ “She was looking at me like I was something that needed to be exterminated.” _

_ “Mary-” _ _   
_ _ “I shouldn't have come.” _

_ “It’s only been an hour.” He says, “Give it time and she’ll warm up to you.” He presses a soft kiss to her hair, he tries to comfort her but all Mary can do is wonder where she’ll be buried in the woods at the end of this week. _

_ -/- _

If Francis wasn't going out of his mind before, he  _ really  _ is now. The sky is dark and she doesn't know where she is. Her body is shivering, every gust of wind threatens to take her down. She can barely see through the icy rain that just comes down harder and harder. She’s soaked, cold, and terrified. She just wants to go home but every move she makes just takes her farther and farther away from that goal and she’s probably been out here for hours now as she keeps walking around in circles. 

She probably looks like a psycho to every car that passes by. A girl all alone, out in this...downpour of snow and ice. Her fingers are so cold she can hardly move them and that feeling is spreading slowly to the rest of her body. She wonders what Francis is doing right now, probably calling everyone he knows to try and figure out where the hell she is. He might even be driving around looking with a confused James in the back. Oh, what did he tell James when he asked for her? She hopes he doesn't blame himself, she was the one who wanted to take a walk, the one who went too far and ended up lost.

She finds being lost feels the same way it did when she was a child. A panic, terrified, gut-twisting, fearful feeling. Only she doesn't look around desperately for her mother, she looks for a road, a familiar street sign, anything that can tell her how far from home she is. 

“It’s probably not that far if I just focus…” She tells herself and then she steps out to cross the street and is met by screeching tires, headlights, and the screaming of brakes. The car stops just at her hip and she just stands there shaking and staring into the headlights. 

“Oh my god!” It’s a shout as the person leaps from the vehicle and the door slams shut and then she’s being grabbed. “Are you okay?” The voice is familiar, frantic, but familiar, and her eyes flick up to meet dark green eyes, with little flecks of gold in the middle, blonde hair falling around her shoulders and Mary’s stomach lurches when she realizes who it is. 

“Olivia?” She asks softly and the girl makes a face and then she realizes too.

“Mary…” She says, “What...what are you doing out here?” She asks, she looks confused but also curious. 

“I don't...I don't know where I am.” She tells her, “I don't know how to get home.” She’s still quiet as her face twists into something softer. Like she feels sorry for her, “I can't remember.”

“Okay.” She says softly, “It’s okay.” She says that soothingly like she’s talking to a child and every second that passes makes Mary lose it just a little more.

“You almost slept with my husband.” 

“Uh,” She sighs, “Y-yes.” She breathes, shakes her head. Mary doesn't say anything as she looks around and shakes at the cold. “I can call him.” She says, “I can call him and tell him where you are and then if you wait he can come and get you.”

“Are you leaving me?” Her grip on her tightens when she starts to pull away. 

“I’m just getting my phone.” She says and Mary lets her go, watching as she goes back to her car and sift through some things in the passenger seat and when she emerges, the phone is already pressed to her ear. “He might not answer, he hasn't been...to keen on receiving my calls.” So, they wait and after a little while, Olivia stuffs her phone in the pocket of her coat with a frustrated sigh. 

“He didn't answer.” He’s probably out looking for Mary, he’s probably freaking out. Oliva shifts awkwardly on her feet as she thinks and then mutters something under her breath as she turns back to her.

“I can take you home.” She says finally.

“Oh.” Mary swallows, “Okay…” 

“Okay.” She shifts on her feet again, “Great, get in.” 

She utters a quick apology as she grabs her purse and empty to-go cup out of the passenger seat and throws everything in the back and then Mary is climbing in the small car and strapping herself into what she’s sure is going to be a long and awkward ride.

“Are you warm enough?” She asks after a while and Mary nods. It doesn't really matter to her if it’s true or not, she just wants to be home already. The ice that formed in the wet strands of her hair is starting to melt, which only makes her even more soaked if that were possible. She supposes this is what she gets for leaving the house the way she did. Karma for getting lost, the universe put her in a car with her husbands... _ whatever _ . 

She’s glad Olivia is reading the atmosphere and the situation and is also avoiding small talk, chit chat, or any form of conversation. She’s just watching the road and driving slowly, the roads are slippery. She looks away momentarily to turn the radio up just a little to fill the silence, it’s some sort of mix of electronica meets indie and not at all what Mary imagined Olivia’s taste in music would be. The woman's voice is very pretty though.

“What’s this?” 

“London Grammar.” She answers softly, “I...can turn it off-”

“No, it’s okay.” She says and Olivia pulls her hand away from the switch. She’s just thankful for the silence filler. 

“How did you get all the way out here?” She asks suddenly, softly, like she isn't sure she should and Mary notices that she is a lot farther away from home than she thought and she barely noticed. She should be thankful that Olivia almost hit her with her car, Mary could have been picked up by  _ anyone _ . 

“I...was just walking and I guess I took a wrong turn.” 

“Does Francis know you took a walk?” She asks.

“No…”

“Are you trying to give him a heart attack?” She asks, it’s supposed to sound like a joke, but it just sounds condescending and Mary just turns her head to look out the window, “Mary, I am sorry about what happened.”

“The kissing in his office or what it led to?” The snap that leaves her mouth is an accident, after all, she isn't angry with Olivia, Francis kissed her first, but she should have stopped him and she didn't. It’s quiet as Olivia seems to be thinking about what to say next.

_ -/- _

_ Mary tosses and turns on the small bed. The springs inside it seem to shout at every move she makes and she wonders if Francis is having just as much difficulty falling asleep as Mary is. She longs for her bed at home, as uncomfortable as it may be, at least she could sleep next to her fiance at home.  _

_ “Mary.” It’s a whisper in the dark that makes her jump and suck in a breath as she sits up. Claude flicks on the lamp by her own bed and sighs and Mary finds that she was the source of the whispering. “His room is down the hall to the right.” _

_ “Huh?” _

_ “Set an alarm for four, my mom makes her rounds at five-thirty, be back in this room by then.” She runs a hand over her tired eyes, “Good god, be quiet.” She warns and she nods as she stands, tiptoeing around a sleeping Margot and then dipping in the dark hall and closing the door with a soft click.  _

_ “Francis?” She questions when she finds the room, it’s too dark to see clearly but she sees the form on the bed move.  _

_ “Mary?” He asks in a whisper, “What are you doing?” _

_ “I can't sleep.” She says as she crosses the room to him and he moves over as much as he can to make room for her. “How come you get your own room?” She asks, everyone else is squished into a room with at least two other people.  _

_ “Oldest.” _

_ “Ah.” She nods as she rests her head on his chest.  _

_ “If my mother catches you-” _

_ “Claude already warned me.” She whispers as she tightens the blanket around herself, “I missed you.”  _

_ “Maybe next year we should get a hotel room like Leeza.” _

_ “If I’m here next year.” _

_ “Yes, well, if my mother catches you in the bed with me she might skin you.” He sighs. Mary giggles softly as she tries to get comfortable. She’s trying to get close to him, so close Francis ends up just pulling her on top of him. It makes her laugh in his neck and he sighs heavily under her as his hand comes up to brush the hair out of her face.  _

_ “Do you think her rule would change once we’re married?” She asks. If they get married, Catherine already doesn't like her much.  _

_ “Hm.” He shrugs, “I hope so.” He hums and after a little bit, his lips are trailing down her neck and anywhere he can reach, his hand is under her shirt and resting on the small of her back. _

_ “We caaaann’t”  _

_ “Yes, we can.” He mimics her whine between soft kisses to her neck, “We just have to be quiet.” He whispers.  _

_ “You really want to get caught.” She says softly but she doesn't stop him and soon her own mouth is on his and they’re breathing each other in and Francis has somehow managed to get her on her back and under him in a flash.  _

_ - _

_ It’s not that she doesn't hear the alarm, it’s that never actually set it. The sun is just starting to rise, the sky is just starting to lighten and she’s woken by the loud clearing of a throat.  _

_ “Mom!?” Francis questions as he pulls the blanket over Mary to cover any exposed flesh. If she held the blanket any tighter to her chest it would literally absorb into her skin and okay, if Catherine didn't like her before, she really doesn't now. _

_ “Good morning.” Catherine says with fake enthusiasm, “Sleep well?”  _

_ “Cather-” Her words are stopped by the woman's hand as she shakes her head. _

_ “Just.” She sighs heavily, “Get dressed.”  _

_ “Mo-” _ _   
_ _ “Dressed.” Catherine snaps as she shoots daggers at both of them before she leaves, the door slamming behind her. Mary falls back on the mattress with a groan. _

_ “She hates me.” She whines, “I told you.” _

_ “Okay, maybe you’re not making the best first impression-” His words are cut off by her whine, “But...it's not over yet.” _

_ “It might as well be. She’s never going to let you marry me.” _

_ “Well, it’s a good thing it's not her decision.” He says that quite seriously as he throws the blanket back and moves to get up and she does the same. She throws her legs over the edge of the bed and starts pulling on her sweats.  _

_ “Where’s my-” She’s interrupted by something balled up hitting the middle of her back and is delighted to find it's her shirt. “Thanks.”  _

_ “Welcome.” He whispers and she feels the mattress dip and then feels his lips crawling over the bare skin of her back, up the length of her spine, over her shoulder blade and around the curve of her neck.  _

_ “No.” She says quickly as she pulls her shirt over her head and then standing up, “We were caught once and your mother doesn't need to be handed any more reasons to want to kill me.”  _

_ “Fine.” He says as he stands but he still walks over and pulls her against him, “I’ll behave.” He says softly as he leans down to kiss her and she lets him. _

_ “Francis!” The call comes from downstairs and it’s loud and demanding enough to spring them apart, which she supposes was the goal and he rolls his eyes as he grabs her hand to lead her down the stairs. _

_ -/- _

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Olivia says after a while, a few seconds of silence. Mary doesn't know either and maybe there isn't anything that she can say to make it better, maybe whatever she does end up saying will just make it worse. Mary just turns her head to look out the window, watching houses and trees go by and she wonders if this is even the right way home because she doesn't recognize it. Is Olivia going to drop her off in the middle of nowhere like a dog? 

“I met Francis when I was fifteen.” She tells her, “And we were together not long after that. After Catherine caught us in his room, she kicked me out and she called my parents.”

“What does this-”

“I come from a religious family, they take traditions very seriously and one of them was to remain a virgin until I’m married. So, imagine their surprise when they found out that their only daughter had given herself to some boy she had only known for maybe two years.” She shrugs, “They pretty much disowned me. Part of the reason I was unable to see Francis again until a few years ago, was because they shipped me off to some distant relatives. They couldn't stand to even look at me.”

“That’s horrible,” Mary says, and it is. Talking about it now, she can hear the pain in her voice. Olivia just shakes her head, swallows hard.

“My point is that um, I never really let go of Francis, I was so hopeful those few years we went without even hearing from each other, that I would be able to see him again. And then when I finally bumped into him all those years later, he was with you.” 

“The date that you crashed.”

“I was so jealous.” She laughs softly, “Seeing him with you...it made me so bitter and I know that’s not fair, Francis has every right to move on and I know that I need to too. But seeing him actually do it, it just felt like he never really cared, that he never really cared to find out what happened to me.” It’s quiet again and Mary just stares at her as she drives, she can see there are tears in her eyes but she blinks them back. 

“And the night of the accident.”

“I knew what I was doing when I went to his office.” She says quietly, “I knew that he had a bad day, I knew that it wouldn't be hard to get him to talk to me, and I knew that if I talked to him about...back then and what could have been that it would have gotten his guard down enough.” So she went into his office with the intention of trying something, so Francis really wasn't all to blame in this, she was going to try something regardless of who moved first. Mary doesn't say anything, she just stares out the window, tries to keep herself from doing what she wants. She wants to slam her pretty blonde head into the glass, she wants to grab the steering wheel and jerk so they hit a tree and maybe she’ll die. 

Francis doesn't need for Mary to be in another accident so she just sits and watches the blur of trees and houses. 

“I know that doesn't necessarily make you like me, but you never did, so why start now?” She asks on a sigh, “He wants you, he’ll always want you, I never really stood a chance when you came crashing into his life. You should have seen his face when he pulled away from me, it was like I made him sick.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Mary snaps looking at her but she doesn't look back, she just watches the road. 

“Francis has pretty much cut me from his life already but what happened that night made it worse and that means that it can never happen again, and I don't want it to happen again.” She looks at her for a second, “So, don't hate him, don't blame him.”

“You want me to blame you.”

“I’ve taken my part of the blame.” She says softly, “And I’m sorry.” She turns after that and Mary knows where they are now as she pulls into the familiar drive, up to the house. The lights aren't on and his car isn't here. 

“What are you going to do?” Mary asks. 

“I think I’ll go back home, try and salvage the relationship with my parents. Maybe they’ll love me again if I become a Nun.” 

“You’d make quite the nun,” Mary says softly and Olivia smiles a small but sad smile as she reaches over to unbuckle Mary’s seatbelt. 

“Francis isn't home, he’s probably looking for you.” She tells her, “So, I will try to call him again, let him know you’re home safe.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time, but let's not make this a habit.” Mary agrees with that, this awkward car ride was enough for the rest of her life and her curiosity about Olivia is satisfied. Maybe she isn't as bad as her mind made her out to be.

“I’m sorry.” She says softly, “That you and Francis ended the way it did.” And the fact that her own parents shipped her off to live with people she barely knew, she must have been so lonely. She just shrugs as she puts her car back in drive and waves as Mary closes the door. 

The house is dark and the lights hurt her eyes when she flicks them on and rubs her arms at the cold. She hopes he comes home soon, even if he’s angry, which he’ll be. She can't run off like that, get lost for hours, and not expect him to be a little mad about it. She sits at the table and after a while, she hears the front door open and close with a slam and there are two sets of footsteps entering the house. 

“She couldn't have gone far.” She recognizes that voice, it belongs to Bash and he sounds soothing but also a little annoyed and she hopes Francis doesn't have half the town out looking for her. 

“I’m calling the hospital,” Francis says and she stands.

“You already did that and she wasn't there.”

“Doesn't mean new patients haven't been brought in.”

“Francis.”

“What?” That’s a snap.

“The light is on.” Bash supplies and then there’s silence and then she hears his feet hit the floor at a speedy pace. 

“Francis, I-” She starts but is stopped by the collision, his body hitting her before she can even register it and his arms are tight around her. 

“Where the hell have you been?” He asks once he’s pulled back, but he keeps his hands cupping her face and he’s smiling like he’s relieved. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, “I...got lost.” 

“You’re shivering.” He says softly and then he’s pulling her to the other room and she waves at Bash as they pass him, and Francis sits her on the couch. He keeps hold of her hand as he pulls a blanket in her lap. 

“If we’re good here, I think I’ll go,” Bash says almost to no one but Francis gives him a thank you and then he leaves. Once the door closes he tucks her wet hair behind her ear.

“How did you find your way home?” Francis asks and she swallows, right, that’s an interesting question with an even more interesting answer. 


	13. All Things Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little on the M side.

“Here,” He says as he returns to the couch and places a mug of something warm in her frozen fingers, “This will warm you up.”

“Thanks.” She doesn't drink it, she just holds it as the heat from the cup slowly starts to bring her fingers back to life. He adjusts the blanket in her lap as he sits next to her and she smiles a small smile. She expected him to be angry, to implode on her, to yell. He isn't doing that and from what she can see, he isn't angry. He’s relieved.

“Olivia brought you home.” It's not a question, it’s the stating of a fact that she provided him with. 

“Yes.” She says, “And before you ask, yes it was very awkward.” She sighs, “I’m surprised she didn't just drop me off in the middle of nowhere like an unwanted dog.”

“I’m just glad you’re home. I was worried.” He says softly as he brushes her hair back. It’s wetter than it was earlier but that’s just because the heat of the house is causing the ice to unthaw. Her clothes are wet too and they stick to her and she should change them, but she wants to sit with him a little longer. 

“I’m sorry.” She didn't intend to go as far as she did, to get lost. Her legs started to move and her body followed, her mind staggered on a few paces back. She wasn't thinking. 

“Don't do it again, please.” Francis presses a soft kiss to her wet hair and she nods. “What did you talk about?” Right. She should tell him, but her stomach twists uncomfortably. 

“Did you know her parents disowned her?” She asks, “After...what happened.” His face tells her he didn't. “They shipped her off to some distant relatives and cut contact. She didn't even know them, so many horrible things could have happened to her. I don't...understand how her parents could have…” She shakes her head, her mother didn't like her that much but she always fought when CPS tried to take her away. She couldn't bear losing her daughter and sometimes Mary wonders if that was because she was the only thing her mother had left of her father and not because she loved her.    
She can never ask her.    
Olivia must have felt so alone. So afraid. 

“I never met her parents, I just assumed they moved.”

“If you knew would you have done something?”

“I’m not sure that there was anything I could have done.” He says with a shrug, “But I think I would have tried.” At least he’s honest and she can't fault him for that. He loved her once. He should have been able to fight for her. Knowing that doesn't stop the nauseating tinge from settling in her stomach though. Mary nods as she folds her legs under her frozen body and swallows. The next part, she isn't sure how he’ll react to it. It won't change what happened, but it’ll add a new perspective.

“Did she ever...try anything before?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know...um…” She chews at her lip, “Hit on you?”

“No.” He says that quickly but then shakes his head as he thinks, “I mean...she told me once that she loved me but I wasn't really listening, it didn't seem like a big deal at the time, I just shrugged it off.” 

“She told me the night of the accident, she went to you-”   
“We don't have to talk about th-”

“She went to you with the intention of trying something.” She says it anyway, he needs to know that. Even if it doesn't change anything, it makes it better. Or maybe worse, she doesn't know what she’s supposed to be feeling. Right now, she only feels cold.

The kiss or whatever it was, it was going to happen regardless if he started it or not and he needed to know that. He doesn't say anything, he’s quiet for a long stretch of silence and she frowns as she looks down at the warm liquid in her cup. Maybe she shouldn't have told him, she seems to have broken him. There’s a glitch in the matrix.  _ Francis.exe has stopped responding _ but she waits. 

“That doesn't change what I did.” He finally speaks and his voice is small, she isn't used to it sounding like that. 

“No.” 

“I wish I could take it back.” He says softly, she knows that but he can't. It doesn't work like that.

“I know.” 

“Mary, I’m sorry.” 

“I know.”

“I-” She stops his apologies with her mouth, jerking forward with too much speed and catching him off guard. She just wants him to stop apologizing, it doesn't change anything. The sheer force of their lips meeting causes her cup to slip from her fingers. The hot liquid collides with the blanket, bleeds through to the fabric of her jeans, finds her icicle of a leg. It doesn't burn her, she doesn't even feel it but she does jump back and so does Francis. 

“ _ Smooth _ .” He comments

“Shut up.” Is the giggling response, “Did it get on you?”

“No.” He smiles as he reaches for the cup in her lap and then the tea soaked blanket. “Will I be needing to apply more burn ointment on you?”

“No, the blanket got most of it.” She tells him, not that his hands on her thigh doesn't sound pleasant. “I need to change.” She groans as she stands.

“Do you need help?” It's a joke, she knows it's a joke but she replaces her almost nod with a look that tells him she didn't find it funny before she heads for the stairs. 

_ -/- _

_ “He wasn't supposed to call you.” Francis says as soon as the door opens. _

_ “Hello to you too.” Mary says as she pushes passed him. He got called to his mothers where a frantic Charles had waited. Mary was just stepping out of the shower when she got a call too. Charles is standing by the couch where Claude seems to have become one with, eyes half closed, her body limp.  _

_ “How long has she been like this?” Mary asks with a quirk of her brow.  _

_ “Not long.” Charles says, “She’s not really responding to anyone. She’s never been this drunk before.” _

_ “She’s not drunk” Mary has seen this before, a few too many times, “Get me some water. Cold.” Francis hands her a pitcher from the fridge, watching with mild curiosity. Boy is her shocked when she proceeds to pour it over his sisters face. Claude coughs and wakes but not the way she wanted, usually her mom would wake with a start, yell at her for doing that. Claude doesn't, she just coughs and closes her eyes again. Mary sets the pitcher down with a sigh. _

_ “I’m so sorry Claudey.” She hums before trying to lift her into a sitting position, “On a scale of one to ten, how much does your mother like this couch?” _

_ “Uh...like a six-” Francis doesn't finish before Mary is grabbing Claude's hair, craning her neck back, and shoving a few fingers down her throat. “MARY WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” The way he yelled that made her want to laugh, but she just waits for the gagging as she leans Claude over and rubs her back as the girl pukes her guts out.  _

_ There’s mush, yesterday's lunch and dinner, and a few too many pills, which she picks out as Claude coughs as gasps and coughs some more. _

_ “Dude what the hell?” Claude says between her coughing fit. _

_ “How many did you take?” Mary asks as she sifts through the contents of Claude's stomach.  _

_ “Uuuuhh-”  _

_ “How many?” _

_ “I don't know like six.” She says finally and Francis looks like he’s about to pass out.  _

_ “Six.” Mary tsks, “Well I’m only counting four so.” She reaches and cranes the girls head back again. _

_ “No, no, wait!” She pleads, “Don't do that againnnn” _

_ “Do you want your stomach pumped?” She asks, “Because it’s a lot more unpleasant. They stick a huge tube down your throat and pump this black tar stuff in it and-” _

_ “Eeeeewwww-” Claude's groan is interrupted by her fingers again.  _

_ - _

_ They pump her stomach, Francis doesn't watch, Charles himself ends up vomiting too but it doesn't bother Mary. She’s seen it probably a million times before, the first time was when she was eight. It was scary then, but now she’s numb to it.  _

_ “What the hell happened?” Catherine is seething as she walks down the hall, she was already at the hospital to sit with Henry during his chemo. He’s so sick now he barely leaves the hospital anymore.  _

_ “She’s fine.” Francis says as he walks to his mother, “She took a bunch of pills-” _

_ “Pills?!” She spats, “What?”  _

_ Catherine doesn't like her much, which is why it's shocking when she’s pulled aside hours later to sit with her outside Claude’s room. Francis is talking to his sister and Charles left to go to work, she’s not sure if anyone else knows.  _

_ “It’s been difficult since Henry’s diagnosis. Claude is his world, and he’s hers.” Catherine explains softly, “Francis told me what you did.” _

_ “Are you going to yell at me about your couch?” _

_ “No, it was an ugly couch.” Catherine sighs, “To be honest I should thank you for giving me a reason to get rid of it.” She laughs softly. Mary doesn't say anything, she isn't sure what to say to this woman, she never has been. The way she sees it is Catherine will never like her, she isn't good enough for her son and he chose her anyway. She has a lot to be bitter about.  _

_ “She thinks I hate her.” Catherine explains, “She has since she was born.”  _

_ “Hm.” _

_ “We don't get along and maybe that’s my fault, I didn't try hard enough.” _ _   
_ _ “Is the part where you tell me you’ve been enlightened?” The part where she tells her that she turned a new leaf, one that will make her more affectionate to the girl in the hospital bed.  _

_ “No.” She says, “I want to thank you for what you did, you saved her.” Not really, her situation wasn't too dire. She’s sure she would have lived if Mary hadn't come. _

_ “You’re welcome.” _

_ “I know we didn't...start out well, I’ve never exactly been warm to you.” She says, “If you need anything-” _

_ “I grew up with a drug addicted mother who didn't want anything to do with me.” Mary says as she stares at the wall, she doesn't like to talk about this and she doesn't want to see her mother-in-laws pitying look as she tells it. “I don't remember the last time she hugged me. I don't know her and she doesn't know me, but she’s my mom and I love her and in her own way, she loves me too.” She shrugs, “Some people just don't know how to show it.” _

_ “Mary-” _

_ “Claude is a good girl, a good person, but you don't know that because you don't care, Catherine. She’s just a screw up to you, it doesn't matter how hard she tries, that’s all she will be to you until you show her otherwise.” She shakes her head, “I know what it’s like to have a mom who doesn't care, and it isn't pleasant. And, I don't care if this makes you hate me more, because Francis loves me and that’s enough; She needs her mom. She needs you to give a shit before you can't anymore because if something doesn't change this will happen again and again until you’re putting her in the ground.”  _

_ “I-” _

_ “And then it’ll be too late.” She stands up, “Now I’m going to go before you skin me, have a nice day.” She turns to walk away, to find her car, to go home and pretend none of this happened. Old feelings are becoming new again and it twists unpleasantly in her gut. _

_ “Mary.” Her voice makes her stop though and she turns just in time to be embraced. She jumps, tenses, sure this is just an easier way for Catherine to snap her spine and kill her but her grip is tight, but not too tight, “You’re a godsend.” She smooths her hair, she kisses her cheek, she holds her and it’s weird.  _

_ It’s so weird but it's nice and when she pulls away, she gives her a small smile before going into Claude's room.  _

_ “Did...did she just hug you?” Francis asks as he walks out, the door closing behind him. _

_ “Uh-huh.” _

_ “Are...you okay?” _

_ “Uh-huh.” She nods again, “I’m...I’m gonna get out of here and process what the hell just happened.” _

_ “As you should.” Francis seems just as surprised as she is but he kisses her cheek, assures her he’ll be home later and then she leaves. _

_ -/- _

She’s changed and under the covers when he comes in. She just threw on one of his sweaters and crawled in bed. The comforter is warm but feels odd on her bare legs and she listens in the dark to Francis downstairs as he makes calls to her friends and whoever else, that the search for her is off. Then he calls Olivia and just says a quick thank you to her for bringing Mary home. It’s a recorded message, seems Francis isn't the only person who isn't too keen on answering the others calls. Then she hears him climbing the stairs, the door opening and closing, his feet causing the floor to creak. She doesn't say anything as he changes and then climbs in the bed. 

“I see you stole one of my sweaters.” He comments as he runs his hand over the soft fabric covering her arm. 

“If you don't like it then steal it back.” She jokes, half jokes, and he settles against her. 

“It looks better on you.” He hums, “Are you warm?” She nods, “Good.”

“I could stand to be a little warmer.” She whispers, sleep has already begun to settle in her bones but she pushes back against him in an attempt to get closer, because she is freezing and he’s very warm and she wants to be warm too. He pulls the blanket up to cover her more and then his arm settles over her waist. 

“Better?” She shakes her head as she moves his hand, places it on her thigh for no reason other than being curious. “How did you get an ice sculpture in our bed?” He asks but he doesn’t take his hand away, it glides a little higher as he smooths the soft skin under his palm. The hair that hung over her neck has moved, or been moved, and she can feel his warm breath on her skin and she barely thinks about it as she moves his hand again. This time she moves it to the inside of her thigh, keeping it in her fingers before she moves it up and up. 

“What are you doing?” He asks that playfully but he doesn't move. 

“I’m not warm enough.” She tells him softly, keeping her eyes shut because she can't bear to look at his stupid face, “I thought you’d like to try a different approach at warming me up.” 

“Is that so?”

“Pretty please?” She hopes he doesn't make her beg, but he’s already pressing soft kisses to her neck, he doesn't turn her over, he doesn't do anything. “Francis-” Her small, half-hearted plea, is cut off by a soft gasp when his hand slides between her legs. It’s only there for a second before he pulls away, enough for her to feel the loss. She expects him to tell her it’s late, to say no, to stop this. 

“Do you forgive me?” He asks softly and she nods, “Hm?” 

“I do.” She tries to turn over to look at him, he doesn't let her. His hand trails back up, lips go back to her neck as his fingers tug her underwear down. Her stomach is tangled in nervous knots and her heart is hammering out of her chest as he tosses them somewhere. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” This time he turns her head to look at him but not the rest of her and he kisses her. It’s soft and slow and he smiles against her lips before he deepens it. His tongue finding hers as their mouths take on another sense of urgency and it’s as dizzying as it is tantalizing. She barely notices when his hand sneaks between her legs, when he starts to touch, slow at first before speeding up a little and she gasps loudly, breaking the kiss, when she feels him push in her.

“Do you want me to stop?” He whispers in her ear, pausing long enough for her to shake her head and squeeze her eyes shut. He continues, agonizingly slow, caressing and curling and listening to her tiny gasps at every new thing he does. 

He knows her body.  _ Very well _ . It’s something she’s known for a while, but it’s evident in the way that he teases and touches. It doesn't take long at all to have her writhing against his hand, every sound she makes only seems to intensify his attentions, as she twists her legs in the blanket, moving against him, her fingers are gripping the sheets so tight they  _ hurt _ and she turns her head in her pillow, her whimpers and gasps falling out of her mouth and his name claws at her throat. The strings inside her body tighten and tighten until they finally snap with a shout and she’s left breathing heavy and sweat clings to her. 

Francis just chuckles as he pulls his hands away from her, pleased with himself, satisfied with his  _ handy  _ work. He seemed to have enjoyed watching her. 

“Are you warm now?” He whispers in her ear teasingly and she breathes a laugh.

“Shut up.” She turns her body, as tired and liquidy as it is, to look at him. He’s in her arms before she can even reach and the kisses are slower, like they have all the time in the world. His phone rings from downstairs and he ignores it as he kisses and kisses and kisses her. He’s just crawling over her when it rings again.

“Whoever that is better be dying.” He says as he rolls off of her, “Stay.” He instructs, she couldn't use her legs if she  _ tried _ . So, she stays. 

She doesn't listen to the conversation, her limbs are tired and heavy and her sensitive flesh is still buzzing but it's short and she’s half asleep when he comes in and flicks on all the lights. 

“Get up.” He says quickly and she groans against the bright lights as he pulled her up to sit. She barely has time to ask what the hell is going on before he’s flinging clothes at her, jeans slam against her chest. “Get dressed.”

“What-”   
“It’s James.” He sounds frantic and her blood turns into ice and her heart ceases to beat as she stares at him. “We have to go.” She nods as she pulls on her clothes with shaking fingers and Francis does help her when she isn't moving fast enough, he yanks her pants up her legs, a shirt over her head. After what he just did to her a few minutes ago she doesn't have time to be shy about it. 

“The roads are bad.” She tells him as she crosses the room to him, he’s pulling on a belt, fastening it before he looks at her. “Francis.” She’s trying to be soothing, she cups his face.

“I know.” He breathes as he pulls her hands away, “My mother doesn't live far from here.”

“I-”

“Shoes.” He tells her when he sees her bare feet and she steps back, he pulls her back to him though, a hard kiss meets her lips, “Hurry up.”

_ -/- _

Her house isn't far from theirs and Francis doesn't even knock before going in with Mary trailing behind him. Catherine stands from her place on the couch, tying her robe closed, her dark blonde hair falls around her shoulders.

“He was fine and then he wasn't.” She explains, stepping aside so Francis can see. 

“James.” He says softly as he walks over, James is on the couch curled up in a small ball and he’s crying and Mary’s heart feels like it’s going to break at the sight. 

“I want mom.” Is all he says in his small little voice.

“She’s here.” Francis waves her over and she comes, “It’s alright.” He soothes, rubbing the little boys back and Mary knelts down in front of him, brushing his curls back. 

“What’s the matter?” She asks softly. 

“You’re not sick again?” He asks and she gives Francis a confused look, he taps his head. Oh, right. He told James she was sick all those weeks to explain the accident, why he couldn't come home, why she couldn't come see him. Francis probably didn't think of the long term repercussions of telling a child that. She shakes her head.

“No.”

“Then where did you go?” 

“I took a walk and...then I got lost.” She tells him, “But I’m not lost now.”

“I thought I was never going to see you.” She doesn't know if he’s talking about before or now, but she nods as she runs her thumb over his small hands. 

“I’m really sorry.” She says softly, “I didn't mean to scare you.” She’s not sure what to tell him, she isn't sure what Francis has already told him. She isn't sure what he said before dropping James off here. If he gave him a reason.

“Stop going away.” He cries and she stands to sit next to him, to which he climbs in her lap and she shushes him, strokes his hair, soothes his back and he buries his little face in her neck. Francis scoots closer and presses a soft kiss to James’ hair and soothes him too. 

She’s guessing he gets his panic attacks from her, considering she’s had a few and she wonders how often this has happened. How many times they’ve had to come and calm him like they’re doing now. It takes a while to get him calm enough to sleep and Mary shakes her head when Francis tries to take him from her to put him back to bed, or load him in the car but she can do it. He isn't that heavy. 

Catherine pulls the curtain from a window and sucks in a breath. 

“You guys are not driving in this.” She tells them. 

“What?” Francis asks and when they look out the window, the snow is coming down so hard they can barely see. 

“I have plenty of room.” She tells him, “You should know.” 

“Mom-”

“It’ll be good.” She smiles and then she cups his face, “I’ve missed having you under my roof.” She smiles lovingly and Mary doesn't say anything as she quirks a brow at him. 

“It’s literally a ten minute drive.”

“And risk having my sons brains scattered on the side of the road?  _ Please _ .” She spats, her eyes go to Mary, “No offense, darling.”

“None...taken…” She says as she adjusts James on her hip, “Francis it’s fine.”

“Fine.” He says after having a minute long staring contest with his mother, who doesn't look like she’s going to be budging on the subject. 

“Oh, perfect.” She smiles as she claps her hands together, “I’ll get your old room ready. I’ve been so lonely since Margot started school.” She’s talking mostly to herself as she heads up the stairs. 

_ -/- _

_ “Where do you want to put the tree?” He asks her as she sits on the couch. It’s a random question and she tilts her head. “It’s almost Christmas.” He supplies. _

_ “Ah.” She nods, “I didn't...know we were doing that.” She never really got the whole decorating thing, but she’s never actually partaken in any of it so, maybe her opinion on it will change. The apartment is small and she isn't sure where it would even fit. It’s December, she supposes it’s about time they start, but it was Thanksgiving last week and they skipped his family get together in favor of doing something with Bash. She’s being forced to go to the Christmas one.  _

_ “Mary.” _

_ “Hm?” _

_ “Can I get a little more enthusiasm?” Francis asks and she squints at him, “Hello?” _

_ “Just out of curiosity, are we doing the whole presents under the tree thing?” _

_ “That is where they go.” _

_ “I wouldn't know.” She says softly, “I’ve never had one.” That comes out even softer and he blinks as she goes back to her book. Only for it to be ripped out of her hands two seconds later.  _

_ “You’ve never had a tree?” He asks, “Ever?” _

_ “Have you met my mom?” _

_ “That.” He sighs, “That is the saddest goddamn thing I have ever heard.”  _

_ “Wait until you hear I have no idea how to even wrap a present.”  _

_ “What?” _

_ “We didn't do that stuff at my house.” She says, she doesn't see the big deal. It seems fun, but it’s not the end of the world if she never decorates a house or wraps a gift in her life. Besides, Christmas used to just be about being together until capitalism got involved and nowadays it’s all about who can buy what. People go out and bulldoze other people for deals the day after being thankful for what they already have, the holidays don't mean much anymore.  _

_ “You are literally the bubbliest, happiest person I know,” _

_ “Oh thank you.” She smiles. _

_ “And you hate Christmas.” _

_ “I do not!” She shouts, “I didn't say that.” She frowns but he smiles, “I just don't see how you’re going to fit a whole tree in this apartment.” _

_ “I’ll figure it out.” _

_ “Okay, well, when you do come get me.”  _

_ - _

_ Her shift at the bar ran later than she thought it would and she just wants to crawl into bed. It’s two in the morning and the stairs feel a mile longer than they are normally.  _

_ “Francis…” She groans as she walks in because usually despite how late it gets, he’s waiting for her but she’s met with silence and dark, she flicks on the light. Lights. So. Many. Lights. Her eyes hurt and she squints to adjust them. It looks like Santa threw up in her apartment. There are strings of multicolored lights and twinkly red lights around the molding and tinsel around the windows. The tablecloth has tiny candy canes on them, there’s a bowl by the door in the shape of an elves face where she drops her keys. _

_ “Ta da!” Francis shouts from the bed, “Do you like it?” _

_ “I’m horrified.” But she smiles. _

_ “There’s more.” He smirks and she tilts her head at him but that’s when she notices the tree cramped in a corner, it’s plain though, no ornaments or lights that she can see. She laughs when he withdraws a tiny white remote from under the blanket and with a click, the tree glows.  _

_ “You’ve been waiting all day to do that, haven't you?” She asks with a giggle. He shrugs as he stands. _

_ “Come closer, it won't bite.” He tells her and then he’s pulling her over. “I saved this part for you.” He whispers and he uses his foot to drag a box of ornaments and different accessories for the tree.  _

_ “I hate you.” She says but she can't stop smiling as she reaches for one.  _ _   
_ _ Okay, she may have judged this whole holiday thing too harshly, it really is pretty and she’s enjoying doing this with Francis. It’s four in the morning when they reach half way, starting and stopping to goof off. She watches him place one near the top and she stares at him. The twinkling lights reflect off the light blue of his eyes and it’s so beautiful she could cry. And he did all this for her. And she loves him so much. She wants a million more Christmases with him. _

_ “Marry me.” He pauses, seems to not hear her at first but then it sinks in and he’s left gaping at her. _

_ “Not a funny joke.” _

_ “It's not a joke.” She says quickly, “I’m serious.” _

_ “You’re serious.” He says softly. _

_ “I mean...not if...you don't want to-” She’s starting to step back.  _

_ “Okay, who told you?” He asks suddenly, “Was it Kenna? Because if it was Kenna-” _

_ “What, what, who told me what?” She asks, giving him a confused look and then he’s staring at her and she’s staring at him and it feels like weeks before he says anything else.  _

_ “No one told you.” He says that more to himself than to her, “Ah damnit. Okay.” _

_ “I’m very confused.” _

_ “Don’t move.” He tells her firmly and then he’s leaving and she hears him move something in the bathroom and then he’s coming back. _ _   
_ _ He’s coming back with a small black box and her stomach flips.  _

_ “Is...is that what I think…” _

_ “I wanted to wait.” He explains, “Until your birthday and then I got nervous…” _

_ “Francis-” _

_ “It was in my pocket the whole night.”  _

_ “Oh.” She says softly. She almost passes out when he gets down on one knee. “Oh my god-” _

_ “Mary-”  _

_ “Yes.” It’s quick as she meets him on the floor, “Yes!” She says that louder as she kisses him over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He’s barely able to get the ring on her finger as she clings to him and kisses him _ .

_ -/- _

“Your mother seems nice.” She says softly in the darkness of his old room. The bed is a little small for them, adding in the tiny body squished between them and it’s really not big enough for them. 

“She isn't.” He hums. “But she tries.”

“I’m sorry we didn't get to finish earlier.” She whispers, she’s been trying not to think about it but that’s easier said than done. 

“If I remember correctly you did finish.” He whispers back and James stirs between them. She makes a face, “But then again you always do.”

“Stop it.”

“Some might say you’re in very capable hands.”

“Ew, stop.” She covers her sons ears, he’s pretty out though, he’d never know what they’re talking about. 

“Strong fingers.”

“ _ Ew, _ stop it.” 

“You weren't saying ew two hours ago.” He says softly and even though it's dark, she can see his smirk and she wants to smack it off his face.

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Aw, did I wear you out? We didn't even get to the good stuff.”

“Shut uuupp.” She whines, thankful for the dark, he can't see the god awful blush she’s sporting right now. He stops, for now, he stops and instead he attempts to get more comfortable. 

Mary is having an eventful night, first she ends up in the car with Olivia, and now she’s in the bed that her and Francis used to...well. 

“It's not the same bed.” He tells her like he knows what she’s thinking, “That one was thrown out.” 

“Oh.”

“Go to sleep, my love.” He says softly and she nods. She doesn't go to sleep though, she stays awake, stroking her sons hair and eventually when her husbands breathing steadies, she tries to sleep too. Her stomach twists, it twists until it hurts and she’s launching herself out of bed a few seconds later as something rises in her throat. She knows where the bathroom is, it’s right across the hall, Francis showed her. She doesn't even flick on the light before hitting her knees. She didn't have time, her stomach empties in the porcelain. 

“Oh, Mary!” The light is flicked on a little while later, just as she’s spitting the remnant of her stomach out of her mouth. It’s Catherine. 

“Sorry...I-”

“Are you alright, I could hear you down the hall?” She asks softly as she hands her a washcloth. She nods as she wipes at her mouth, that came out of nowhere but a lot happened today and yesterday. She didn't eat much, that’s probably what it is, she’s still healing from the accident too. 

“I’m okay.” She says softly, “Stress and…” and she doesn't know, “My head is still...um.”   
“Right.” Catherine nods as she squints at her, “You should go back to bed.” Mary doesn't really like the weird look she’s giving her but she goes back to bed anyways. If she has something to say, she’ll say it tomorrow.


	14. Unexpected

“Lola will take you to your appointment later.” He tells her as he buttons up his shirt and she watches from her cocoon of blankets. She hasn't thrown up since that night at his mother's, which he still doesn't even know about, that was two days ago. She’s been incredibly tired since and maybe that’s what has him worried. Francis frowns when she doesn't respond and then he’s sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for her. 

“I’m fine.” She groans and he pulls his hand back, “I don't need a doctor.”

“They just want to check on you.”

“They want to prod me with needles.”

“Mary-”   
“I hate it.”

“I-”

“Doctors are stupid.”

“Tell that to their six years of med school.” He says dryly. 

“I will.” She groans as she turns her face in her pillow, “Not my fault they spent thousands of dollars on a piece of paper that deems them qualified to stick me with needles.”

“Deems them qualified to save dozens of lives, but hey, what do I know?” 

“I don't want to go.”

“Too bad.”

“Nooooo-” 

“Yeeeessss.” He mimics her whine and she’s hit with a wave of deja-vu. She sighs heavily in her pillow. She can't  _ not  _ go and she does want to see Lola. And Kenna, and Greer. “It’ll be fine. You’ve been acting strange.”

“Don't you have a thing to go do?” She snaps, she doesn't mean to snap but snap she does. He gets up with a sigh. 

“I have something for you.” He says suddenly, “But you have to sit up.”

“Make me.”

“Fine, I guess you don't want your present.” She can hear the pout and she rolls her eyes before flopping over and sitting up with a scowl. 

“I have risen.”

“I see that.” He smiles and then he’s going somewhere else, disappears out of the room and she’s left sitting in bed staring at where he used to be standing. He doesn't come back for a little while and she hears the opening and closing of a drawer and then he’s back. “I forgot where I put it for a second.” He tells her before he tosses it at her. It lands in her lap, something a little heavy, rectangular. She squints at it. “It's called a phone,” he says slowly.

“I know what it is.”

“It’s like your old one, all the contacts were transferred over, it’s the same number as your old one, the only thing you need to do is use it.” 

“Thank you.” She says softly.

“So the next time you decide to go soul searching and get lost, call me.”

“I got it.” She mutters with a small frown. The frown makes him frown too and then he’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed with a worried expression, “I’m fine.”

“You don't look fine.”

“I don't feel well.”

“Hence the appointment.” He smirks as he leans in to kiss her, “I have to go wake up James and then we’ll be out of here. Tell me how it goes, okay?”

“Okay.” He leaves the room after that and she lies back down to take a nap, it isn't a long one but by the time she rouses herself from sleep, she feels worse and Francis is gone. She groans at the vibrating on the nightstand. Ah, yes, she has a working phone now. 

**Lola: ** _ “Francis told me your number works now.” _

**Lola: ** _ “I’ll be over in about an hour.” _ She frowns, so she only has an hour to get ready. Francis could have at least provided her with the time. She stretches and gets out of bed, the first thing on her list is a shower, so she takes a quick one. She tries to ignore the dizziness, slight nausea, she can't tell if it's coming from whatever bug this is, or if she’s just hungry but once she’s dressed and forcing a granola bar down her throat; Lola is at the door. 

“Stop. Knocking.” She croaks as she opens it. 

“Sorry.” Lola smiles a small smile and then she’s hugging her, tight. “Oh, how are you?” She asks as she pulls away and Mary shrugs. She’s tired, like really tired, her body feels like it’s being weighed down and her limbs are heavy. 

“I want to get this over with.”

“Well, then get your coat.”

They go to the same place Francis took her before, but Lola is a lot more talkative than Francis was. It’s nice to talk to her, to see her, to know her friends still exist considering she hasn't seen them since she left the hospital. 

“Kenna has been itching to see you, do you want to stop by before I take you home?” She asks.

“Can we see Greer too?” She asks, Lola nods as she turns into the parking lot. 

“They’ll be happy to see you.”

“Me too.” Mary sighs and she smiles. She almost asks about seeing Aylee, but then she remembers that Aylee isn't alive and the sad realization settles in her stomach. Right, Aylee died, she died years ago but Mary doesn't remember. 

“How did…” She starts and stops, “How did Aylee die?” Lola pauses as she opens her car door to step out and she sighs. 

“Uh. She was sick.” Lola explains, “It just came out of nowhere and she went to bed one day and didn't wake up.”

“Oh.”

“She went peacefully.” Lola says softly, “No pain.”

“Right.” 

“I can show you her grave if you want.”

“Yeah.” She nods quickly, it’ll make it more real if she were to see it. “And my moms?” The thought didn't even occur to her to ask Francis to take her before. She knew they were dead, but now, she’d like to visit them and maybe put flowers down. 

Inside the exam room, she sits on the table like she did so many weeks before, bored out of her mind and waiting for her blood test to come back. Her doctor didn't make much conversation, he seemed busy and a little annoyed that she came in. She tries not to take it personally, if it had been up to her, she wouldn't be here at all. It’s probably just a cold, something she got from running around in the cold for hours and then sitting in wet clothes after that. 

“You and Francis are good?” Lola asks as she flips through a magazine.

“Yup.”

“That’s good.” She says, “I have a date tomorrow.”

“Oh, with who?”

“Some guy named Julian.” She sighs heavily, “And he seems nice but my mom found him and she wants me to try.”

“Maybe it’ll be fun.”

“Maybe.” Lola runs her hand through her brown hair, “They’re taking a long time.” She says softly and she’s trying not to sound worried but it only makes Mary's stomach twist more. She’s about to air her concern that it might be cancer, or something equally as bad when the door opens. 

“Okay, sorry that took so long.” The doctor says as he closes the door, “Let's just get straight to the point.”

“Okay…” Lola stands, coming next to her to link her arm with her friends. “Am I dying?”

“No, you’re pregnant.”

_ -/- _

_ “What exactly are you doing?” Francis sounds tired and annoyed upon flicking on the kitchen light to find his wife on the counter and all of the cabinets are wide open. _

_ “I want chips.” She tells him as though that’ll explain the ungodly mess she’s making at this ungodly hour. “But I can't find any.” _

_ “Uh-huh.” _

_ “Something salty, or tangy, I don't know; crunchy.” She’s saying as she sifts through boxes of food and cans, cups and plates.  _

_ “Mary-” _

_ “No.” She knows he’s going to tell her to get down, to come back to bed, but she can't. Her body wants chips, salty, savory, good old fashioned potato chips. They don't have any, of course, they don't; they never have that stuff. “This is your fault.” _

_ “Mine?” _

_ “You got the groceries, you’re the one who won't buy junk food ever.” _

_ “Because it’s junk. It’s in the name.” _

_ “I’m going to die.” She whines loudly, obnoxiously, she doesn't even care if he glares at her. She knows what she wants, she knows what the baby wants, and they don't have it. They never have it and now she’s going to die and it’s all his fault. _

_ “Come back to bed.” He sighs and when she gives him another firm no, he’s heading for her.  _

_ “Noooo!” It’s a shriek, and a desperate attempt to hold onto the cabinet door before he’s plucking her off the counter with ease. He keeps hold of her, bless him, despite the thrashing that he seems way too tired to be dealing with at three in the morning.  _

_ “Stop it.” He says that sternly as he sets her back on the floor, “There was nothing in that cabinet ten minutes ago, there will be nothing if you look again.” _

_ “THE PANTRY!” She shouts excitedly, “You’re a genius.” She smiles as she kisses his cheek and off she goes, there’s nothing. Her excitement does bitterly.  _

_ “I will get you some tomorrow.” He says, “Well, later.” _

_ “I want them now.” _

_ “Mary-” _

_ “The baby wants them.” She begs, “You wouldn't deny our child-” _

_ “I am not getting dressed in the middle of the night and hunting for a store, if there is one that's open, to get you something that’s not good for you.”  _

_ “I-” _

_ “No.” That’s a snap and she shouldn't take it so personally, it is late, and he is tired, and he’s been working so hard. And she’s being annoying, but she’s also hormonal. So, he should have predicted the lip quivering and flooding eyes. “Oh. No, Mary-” _

_ “You’re so meaann.” She cries and it’s stupid, it’s childish, she knows. She won't be able to sleep until she has them and he knows that too. She’s vigorously at her eyes as the tears slip out and slide down her face, “I can't help it.” She adds and she watches his stern, exasperated expression melt into utter defeat. He pinches the bridge of his nose before pulling her to him and running a soothing hand down her back. _

_ “I know, I’m sorry.” He whispers and shushes her some and when she’s calmer, he pulls back to wipe the tears away with his thumb. “What kind?” _

_ “I want to come with you.”  _

_ “You’re going to cry if I say no.” _

_ “Probably.” There’s a small pause as they stare at each other and then his face cracks in a smile. _

_ “I love you, psycho, go get your shoes.” _

_ -/- _

There are several different types of shock, cardiogenic shock, hypovolemic shock, obstructive shock, distributive shock. She’s sure she’s experiencing one of those. Her head is light, but it was light when she got here, her hands are sweaty, her ears are ringing, and for the love of all things; she cannot stop  _ laughing _ . Lola is concerned, as anyone would be, but the doctor just stands there while she gets it all out and after a good minute, the hysterics die down to a giggle.

“Sorry.” She giggles, “That’s just...uh well, ridiculous.” 

“I see we weren't trying.” He says dryly as he flips through her chart, “You are pretty far, I’m surprised you didn't know. But I suppose with the accident, all the trauma, medications, you may not have even noticed the symptoms.”

“I didn't notice because I’m not pregnant.” She laughs softly, Lola straightens next to her.

“Are you sexually active?”

“Not...No.”

“Were you before the accident?” She looks at Lola and she nods quickly.    
“ _ Apparently _ .” She chokes. 

“Then you’re pregnant.” He says that quite seriously despite Mary’s denial by way of giggling.

“You’re funny, you’re a funny guy, what’s wrong with me?”

“Congratulations, Ms. Stuart, go home and get some rest.”

“No.” She says quickly.

“Blood doesn't lie, you’re welcome to go home and take a pregnancy test if you want but it’s going to come back positive.” That’s the last thing he says before he leaves; the door clicking shut softly. Lola let's loose the breath she must have been holding the whole time.

“Oooohh my god.” She breathes, “Oh my god, Mary-”

“No.”

“Mary-” She jumps down from the table, she’s just trying to wrap her head around it. There’s a baby  _ in  _ her and she doesn't remember how it got there. She shakes her head.

“No. Nope.” She runs her hands through her hair, “I can't…” 

“Okay, you’re freaking out, I can freak out too.” Lola’s excited face switches to something more akin to worry as she reaches for her friend, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” They make a plan, Lola takes her to a few stores and they buy way too many tests. 

She’s going to take them until she isn't in denial any more.

“You have to watch for Francis!” She shouts from the bathroom.

“Will do, you just...do...what you gotta do.” 

“Okay.”

“Yup.”

“How do I-”

“You’ve done this before,” Lola tells her through the door.

“Scrambled. Egg. Brain.” She snapped as she stares at the boxes on the bathroom counter, they bought twelve. Which is way too many, but she only does it until it’s glaringly obvious that the doctor wasn't full of shit. The instructions are pretty self-explanatory and soon, both her and Lola are staring at a positive result. 

“Did he say how far-”

“Eleven, twelve weeks.” She says softly, at least Lola heard him. She was too busy freaking out. She shrugs, “Around there.”

“So I’ve been...with child for a while.”

“Seems like it, you really didn't know?” She asks and Mary shakes her head quickly before stepping away. “It's not so bad.”

“I just…” She didn't know. She didn't know and this whole time she’s been… “I don't remember the last time we-”

“I know.”

“And I…”

“It had to be...right before.” Lola says softly, “You could ask him?” She shakes her head again, how would she explain her need to know? God, how is she going to tell him? He doesn't want another one, he told her that. It was something they both decided, James was it.

James was it until he isn't. 

She doesn't remember that conversation, she doesn't remember deciding, but she trusts Francis enough to know he wouldn't lie about it. James was sick and they decided they’d never have another. 

“I can't be pregnant.”

“Mary-”

“I can't…” She shakes her head again. “There has to be another explanation.”

“Look.” Lola grabs the test off the counter and holds it up for her, “Two lines, two very prominent lines.”

“I see that.”

“I know this is a lot, all of this has been a lot, but don't freak out until you talk to him.” She says softly, “Besides, you make cute babies.”

“He doesn't want another one.”

_ -/- _

_ “Franciiisss.” She calls for him from the bed, “I need your brain.” She can hear the shower running and she just spent the last hour reading about pregnancy. When he doesn't answer she throws the blankets back and pads to the bathroom. It’s barely light out and she only woke up because his alarm was too loud, and now he’s not answering her.  _

_ “Francis.” She pulls the shower door open, squinting at the steam and he moves his hair out of his face and wipes the excess water from his features before looking at her. _

_ “Yes?”  _

_ “What’s this word?” She asks as she holds up her phone and he almost objects to it but he realizes that’s not going to get her to go away, so he just reaches. “Don't get my phone wet.” _

_ “I can't see it.” _

_ “Come closer, dummy.” _

_ “I’m sorry, whose brain did you need?” He asks with a scoff, but he comes closer with a roll of his eyes and squints at the article she was reading. “Amniocentesis.” _

_ “What does that mean?” _

_ “I don't know.” He says as he steps back under the spray and she frowns. “You gonna close that ooorr-” _

_ “What if I tear?” She asks, “I hear a lot about people tearing when they give birth.” _

_ “It’s common.” _

_ “And painful. I don't want to do that.” _

_ “Mary, you’re still in the first trimester, it’ll be a while before you have to worry about that.”  _

_ “We should get a crib soon.” She says suddenly and he looks like he’s ready to ram his head into the wall. “And then we’ll be prepared and we won't have to worry about it.” _

_ “Mary-” _

_ “Did you want to tell your parents or am I doing that? I was thinking because it’ll be around Christmas we could wrap a baby blanket for them and make them open it.” _

_ “Cute.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Mary-” _ _   
_ _ “What?” He doesn't say anything, he just takes her phone and tosses it on the pile of clothes by the shower and then before she can say anything, he has one arm around her waist and the other pressed against the wall for support. He pulls her in and closes the door.  _

_ “FRANCIS!” She’s shrieking, pushing against him when he carries her directly under the showerhead. “No! No! Pleeeaaassseee!”  _

_ “What? I can't hear you over the water.” He laughs and she squeaks when she almost falls over, she giggles too.  _

_ “Frannnccciiiss, my clothes.” She whines as she grabs his shoulders for support, to keep herself from falling on her ass. She’s soaked now, she probably looks like a wet rat, he just smiles as he reaches to pull her hair down from the bun she had it in.  _

_ “Maybe you should take them off.” He suggests before moving down to her lips. _

_ -/- _

She doesn't know how to tell him, she watches him do things around the house and she can't get the words out. She watches him help James with his homework at the table, watches him cook, she helps him with the dishes, and then she watches him read with James before bed. All the little moments in between, she could have told him, just blurted it out. She doesn't, she just sits and watches him. 

“Oh, how did your appointment go today?” Francis asks as he puts the books James left out back in the boys' backpack. 

“Fine.” She says quickly

“Fine?”

“Mhm.”

“Did they figure out what’s wrong?” He asks, “It's not your head?” He seems worried, bless him, she shakes her head.

“It’s just a bug.” She tells him, “It’ll go away…”  _ In nine months. No, technically seven. _ He doesn't say anything, he just nods.

“Just rest, okay? Until you feel better.” He smiles a small smile at her as he zips up the backpack and carries it to its place by the stairs. 

“Francis.”

“Yes?” He turns around to look at her. 

“Uh…” She fidgets with her rings, twisting them around her fingers and he gives her a questioning look, one golden brow arching as he takes her in. “I have...I have a question.”

“Okay.” He’s looking at her funny, like she’s gone a little nuts, but he walks to the kitchen again, where he set the leftovers on the counter in Tupperware containers. He starts putting them in the fridge and stops her when she tries to help, “You should be resting.” He tells her, “Ask your question and then off to bed.” That’s the thing, she doesn't know how to ask it. She can't even think about the other night before his mother called without turning into a blushing, incoherent, mess. 

“You love me?”

“Yes.” He’s still looking at her strangely and she shifts on her feet, “Was that your question?”

“No.”

“The suspense is killing me.” 

“When...was the last time we did it?”

“Did what?” He asks, squinting at her before getting a cup out of the cabinet and filling it with some water.

“You know... _ it _ .” 

“I really d-”   
“Sex.” She says quickly, not looking at him as she throws the word at him. He doesn't answer and she can feel him looking at her. She swallows.

“Why?” 

“I just...I just want to know.” She stammers, “And I’m your wife...so I should…”

“Right…” He says softly, “Okay...do you want a date?”

“How...soon before the accident?” She asks, she still can't look at him as she tugs at her sleeve. It’s another one of his sweaters, a red one. 

“Two, three days before.” He says after a while and she nods, so they made a baby three days before. No wonder it wasn't caught, it’s not even detectable until after a missed period and she didn't even know she missed them, and if Francis did notice he probably thought the medication she was on threw her off her regular cycle. 

“Ah.” She says softly, “It’s been a while for you then…”

“I...guess.”

“Sorry.” She says softly, she doesn't know what to do now, “Um-”

“Mary.”

“Hm?”

“I can wait.” He tells her, maybe that’s what he thinks this is. Maybe he thinks she’s feeling bad about how long it’s been. 

“I know…” She nods, “I just…”

“Go to bed, I’ll be up soon.” He gives her a reassuring smile before he crosses the room to her and kisses her cheek. 

_ -/- _

_ “Mary, I got us a hotel room, it isn't far from the hospital-” _

_ “No.” She says, her voice is hoarse and her throat feels raw, she doesn't look at Francis, she keeps her eyes on her baby.  _

_ “Mary, you need-” _ _   
_ _ “I need to stay with him.” She snaps it harshly and she doesn't move to fix it. “You can do to the hotel if you want, but I’m staying here.” He’s so sick, so so sick and she needs to stay next to him in case he wakes up and he needs her. His skin is an ashy grey and his chest rises and falls in slow and shallow breathing. It’s been two days, almost three, or has it been three already? She doesn't know and he hasn't gotten any better and the doctors can't figure out what’s wrong with him, he might not get better. _

_ “I have to stay with him.” _

_ “My love.” Francis is trying to reach for her but she jerks away, “Please-” _

_ “He needs me!” She shouts and then quickly turns back to her baby, he doesn't stir or wake, whereas just a week before he’d cry at the sound of a pen hitting the floor.  _

_ “Okay.” He says softly, “Okay, we’ll stay.” She eases herself in the small chair by the crib and reaches for James’ hand. She’s trying not to be angry with Francis, she doesn't know why she even is angry with him. Everything he says is making her blood boil. _

_ “I didn't...mean to shout…” _

_ “I know.” He says and he leans down to press a kiss to her hair, “You need sleep.” _

_ “I’m not tired.” _

_ “You think you’re not but wait until you crawl into a nice warm bed-” _

_ “Stop trying to make me leave him.” She snaps, “I’m not leaving him, he’s my son.” _

_ “I’m not trying to make you do anything, Mary, but you need to take care of yourself too.” _

_ “He’s mine!” She shouts again, this time Francis steps back. The door is closed, so she can shout as much as she wants. “I’m not going anywhere unless he comes with me.” Francis doesn't say anything but he looks like he wants to.  _

_ “What, Francis?” She asks, she’s tired and stressed and worried and maybe that’s what's making her act the way she’s acting right now. But he doesn't deserve it and she knows he doesn't.  _

_ “He’s my son too.” He says. _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Really? Because it doesn't seem like you do.” _

_ “What do you want me to say, Francis?” She asks with a sigh, “I don't want to leave him alone and you do.” _

_ “What?!” He shouts, “Are you kidding me?” _

_ “You keep trying to get me to leave him! You tried it yesterday with your sister and you’re trying it now!” _ _   
_ _ “What I want is for you to have a nice warm place to sleep, sorry for trying to take care of you!” They’re both shouting at each other now, but James, James sleeps and he doesn't wake no matter how loud they get. She’s standing now. “Instead you want to sleep on these plastic chairs, fine! But don't pass out on me, I can't have both my wife and child lying in a hospital bed!” _

_ “Why don't you just go sleep in your office.” _

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “I bet you’re itching to get back to work!” _

_ “How long have you been waiting to throw that at me!?” They keep yelling and yelling and she’s shocked and surprised that no one has knocked on the door yet, they aren't the only patients on this floor.  _

_ “You didn't even want a baby!” She screams that and everything just stops and now he’s just looking at her and she’s looking at him. It’s true, he didn't. Not at the same time she did and they fought over it more than one time, he wanted their life to be more stable, to be more secure but she just kept… “But I begged...and I begged, until finally…” _

_ “Mary…” _

_ “I did this.” She says softly, and she doesn't care if it makes sense but to her, it feels like the universe is trying to tell her Francis was right and they should have waited. “I can't leave him.” _

_ “This isn't your fault.” He tells her, “It's not…” He’s taking her in his arms, he’s stroking her hair and she finally just cries and when she’s done, he pulls back. “Let's go...we’ll come back first thing in the morning, I promise.” She’s already shaking her head. “You need sleep-” _ _   
_ _ “What if he dies while I’m gone?” She asks, “What if he dies and I’m not with him?” It’s a very real possibility, one they have to acknowledge and Francis doesn't bring up the hotel again, he just holds her.  _

_ -/- _

She finds his office easily, it's really not that difficult since his name is on the door. It’s been two days since she found out and she’s finally ready to tell him. It's empty when she goes in and she frowns. She hopes he comes back soon. While she waits she flips through some of the books on his shelf, looks at the pictures on his desk and admires the view from the window. He said something about having court all day today, so maybe coming here was a bad idea.    
She doesn't mean to fall asleep on the small leather couch but she does and she wakes to a dark office and someone's suit jacket draped over her body. 

“Thank you,” Francis whispers as he takes whatever the man in front of his desk is giving him. They tell him he did a good job today and something about finally getting the bastard and then he leaves and Mary stretches and groans from her place on the couch. 

“You’re awake.” He says from his desk.

“Yeah.” She says softly, voice groggy from her long nap and she sits up with a yawn. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Good, how did you get here?”

“Lola.” She called Lola in hysterics because she wanted to tell him but she didn't want to wait until he came home, so her friend graciously offered to bring her to his office so that she could tell him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I like it when you visit me.” He smiles a small smile, “James is with Kenna and Bash, they’re going to drop him off here so we can take him home together.”

“Oh...James.” She didn't think this through, she completely forgot she needed to be back by a set time so she could be home to get James. She hopes he didn't come home to an empty house.

“Bash was supposed to pick him up and take him to his house today, don't worry.”

“Oh.”

“It was a plan long in the making.” He says as he shuffles some papers, “Bash likes to take him to his shop since James likes to help him with the cars.” He explains, still, she should have been home. She stands up and crosses the room to him. 

“Uh...how was court?”

“Messy.” He sighs, “As it always is with homicide trials.”

“Did...did you win?”

“It's not over yet.” He says, “But I think so, the evidence is strong.” He’s reaching for her now, holding her fingers loosely in his. He looks like he’s the one who could use a nap. 

“Francis.” She says softly, “Can I talk to you?”

“Always.” She nods as she takes a seat in front of his desk. “What is it?”

“When you said that we...agreed not to have any more kids, did we mean  _ ever _ ?” He doesn't answer right away, he seems to be thinking back, but he nods eventually and her stomach twists. 

“Maybe not ever, but I can't see my mind changing on it.”

“And mine?”

“You don't remember.” He says softly, “I can't tell you what to feel.”

“So, if I wanted another, you would say no.”

“I would advise against it.” He says honestly, “Mary, I love James and I would love to have a million more with you, but not if there’s a possibility that they could get sick and die.”

“James could fall down the stairs and bust his head open tomorrow, Aylee died in her sleep, things happen Francis-”

“Why are we even talking about this-”

“Because I’m pregnant.” It flies out of her mouth before she can stop it, and she regrets it as soon as it does. This isn't how she wanted to tell him, she looks down at her hands, “The doctor said...we must have conceived right before the accident.”

“That’s why you asked me that weird question the other night.”

“Yeah.” She says softly. “I know you don't want it, I know. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper and she doesn't even notice him getting up. 

“Mary, I’m so sorry.” He says softly, “Get up.” She does, but she doesn't look at him. She doesn't look at him until he makes her look at him. “I love you and I love James and I’m going to love this baby.” 

“Francis-”   
“But I’m scared.” She is too. She doesn't remember being pregnant the first time, she doesn't remember James being sick, she doesn't remember giving birth to him. She doesn't want this one to get sick too, she doesn't want to open her heart to something and have it be ripped away. 

“You don't want another one.”

“That’s too bad because we’re having another one.”

“But you don't want it.” 

“I do.” He says that so softly she barely hears it but she smiles a small smile, she wants it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone has a happy holiday. I’ll see you in 20/20!


	15. Near The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter but, I made it too long so the next chapter will actually be the last one.

James is asleep and Francis was home at a reasonable time tonight. She’s not sure how this started though, but he’s shushing her between kisses and soft giggles. She’s pretty sure she started it since she’s hormonal and wants to kiss him every second of every day. 

“James-”

“Sleeping.”

“Okay, but his door is literally right over-” She’s cut off by his mouth and laughs softly against it, “Stop interrupting me.”

“I wouldn't have to if you just-”  _ Kiss _ . “Stopped-”  _ Kiss _ . “Talking.” This kiss is longer and she swallows her giggles to part her lips so he can deepen it. She’s shifting in his lap a moment later and pressing herself to him until he’s pulling her closer. His hands stay on her hips though, occasionally one will come up to sweep her hair behind an ear when it falls back in her face. She wants them everywhere but he doesn't seem to get that, no matter how many deep sighs and soft rolls of her hips she gives him.

“Francis.” She says when she pulls back, much to his dismay. “You know you can touch me, right?” He drums his fingers on her hips like he’s thinking about it.

“Do you want me to?”

“Please?” She’s not trying to sound needy or clingy or something but, the last time they really did anything like that was when they had to go get James. He doesn't say anything, he just presses soft kisses to her cheek and then her neck and then back up until he’s at her ear.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He whispers that before his arm tightens around her and he’s pulling her down. It’s a soft squeak and then the breath of a laugh before she’s pressed under him and clinging to his shoulders.

“Hi.” She giggles.

“Hi.” He smiles and it’s a second before he’s shushing her, pressing his lips to hers and then to her cheek and down her jawline, to her neck. It gets a little more serious now, as he leaves wet kisses on her skin and his hands go up her shirt. She breathes a tiny laugh when the pad of his thumb ghosts over her ribs, leaving a small ticklish sensation in its wake. 

“That tickles.” She giggles softly and he pulls back to look at her, quirking a brow and she remembers that he told her to be quiet like two seconds ago. “Right. Quiet time.” He just leans back in to kiss her and she lets him, relaxing under him as his hand leaves the skin under her shirt to start unbuttoning it. She grabs his wrists. 

“ _ Here _ ?” Is the squeak that comes out of her mouth and he pulls back a little. 

“Uh.” He looks confused, “Do...do you not-”

“No, I...not here.” She whispers, she definitely doesn't want the first time they do this far to be on the couch a few feet away from their kid. She’s sitting up now, pushing him off, sending a glance over her shoulder at the bedroom door that’s still shut. She’s halfway through buttoning up her shirt when it opens, however. 

“Is it morning already?” Francis asks sarcastically, but he’s smiling at the boy with messy brown curls. 

“No, but you’re acting like it is.” James snaps and she has to bite her lip to keep from laughing at what that does to Francis’ face. His eyebrows shoot up and his smile disappears. 

“ _ Pardon _ ?” His voice has also changed too and she feels for James, she wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of  _ that _ . “You want to rephrase that?” It’s quiet and Mary is digging her nails into Francis’ thigh, a soft request not to yell at him leaves her lips. 

“Sorry.” He says softly with a tiny pout and if Francis wasn't still half on her, half off, she’d be hightailing it over there. 

“I’ll let it go since we woke you.” Francis tells him but his tone is still slightly angry, “Go back to bed.” He utters another sorry and then the door closes and now Mary’s pouting at him too.

“Go hug him.” She whines it. 

“No, that was rude?”

“Franciiiiisss-”

“Stop it.” He says but then he rolls his eyes when her pouting intensifies and he kisses her before standing up, “James!” He’s calling for him softly as he enters his room and closes the door. 

_ -/- _

_ They’re giggling on the way out of the venue, both of them erupting into loud laughter when Mary almost trips on her dress. He has her though and eventually they make it to the cab parked waiting. She wonders if Leeza will be angry when she realizes how early they left, but they’ll make it up to her tomorrow at the wedding.  _

_ “Francis wait-” She giggles, “My skirt is caught in the door.” She tugs on it as he reaches to open her door again, she pulls it inside.  _

_ “Where are your shoes?” He asks when he sees that she’s barefoot and she has a mini heart attack before she realizes she’s holding them. And then she’s laughing a little too hard about it, when makes him laugh too and she wonders if their driver is annoyed or if he’s used to it.  _

_ His hands are all over, roaming over the open back of her dress, up the slit in her skirt, over the pale expanse of her shoulders and she scoots closer to him until she’s pretty much in his lap, lips on his. _ _   
_ _ It’s more giggling than it is kissing but they don't really care right now. Or maybe it is more kissing than it is giggling because before she notices, the cab driver is clearing his throat and they’re in front of their house. She leaves Francis there and heads for the house, tripping on a tree root and almost falling over, but she catches herself and once Francis is done paying for their ride, he’s looking at her in a way that makes her want to run.  _

_ And run she does. As much as she can in this dress, he’s right on her heels but she makes it inside first, and he’s on her before she can even turn on the lights. He presses her into the door, using her body to close it and she tosses her heels on the floor. She uses his shoulders as a launching pad, lifting herself to wrap her legs around his waist.  _

_ She almost sends them both down with a shriek and a few giggles but still.  _

_ “Don't drop me.” She breathes against his mouth. “Francis-” His name is clipped on a squeak when he suddenly moves back and she quickly wraps her arms around his neck.  _

_ “Calm down, I’m not going to drop you.” He assures her and she only believes him when he’s setting her down on the island. “See?” He asks as he kisses her. He tastes like champagne and wine and various amounts of alcoholic beverages that are probably contributing quite a bit to their behavior right now. _

_ “You’re drunk.” She giggles. _

_ “You’re drunk.” He counters. _

_ “Okay, we’re both drunk.” She tells him as she runs her hands over his chest and around his shoulders, chewing on her lip. “What do you want to do now?” He doesn't even need to think about it before his fingers are crawling up the slit in her skirt and finding the skin of her thigh. She shifts and scoots, a little longing groan escapes her mouth when his hand slides farther up and dips where she wants him.  _

_ “What if...I don't want to do that?” She asks softly, but her voice is betraying her, she sounds like she’d rather die than not do that.  _

_ “Then say no.” He smirks, “Tell me to stop.” He’s almost daring her to as she melts into him and she swallows hard as she presses her forehead against his and focuses on what he’s doing to her. He keeps his touch light, thumb pressing featherlight circles against clothed flesh, she’s gripping his shoulders. Her hips move once, jerking towards him and he seems to find it a little funny, but she wants more than the light touches he’s giving her.  _

_ “Francis.” It's a halfhearted whine, caught on a heavy breath when he ups the pressure. She pulls him closer, catches his mouth in something more animalistic than the soft, giggly kisses from before and that seems to get them going. Soon, she’s clinging to him, brows furrowed, eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth open as various amounts of noises come out and he’s whispering encouragements in her ear.  _

_ “Can we go to bed now?” She asks when she’s breathless and buzzing and tense against him. Her question makes him frown as he pulls back enough to shake his head at her. “Why?” Surely he knows she isn't talking about actually sleeping. _

_ “Because I’m not done yet.” He tells her simply as he pushes up her skirt to expose her creamy thighs and she almost tells him they can do this upstairs, in a bed, with blankets, but she forgets how to speak when he drops down. Her gasp when he pulls her to the edge of the counter makes him laugh, but that’s quickly quieted when her knees are over his shoulders and mouth meets flesh.  _

_ -/- _

Francis doesn't come back until she’s crawling in bed. He closes the door with a soft click. 

“All better?” She asks with a quirk of her brow and he sighs as he crosses the room, “The attitude was astounding.”

“Glad you think so.” He says, “Because he gets it from you.”

“What? No, he doesn't.” She frowns and he squints at her because, how would she really know if he was telling the truth or not. “I suppose it’s possible.”

“ _ Suppose _ ?” He gives her an incredulous look and she shrugs. After a while, when they’re both in bed, things do get kind of serious as she rolls over to look at him.

“Can we go see where my mom is buried?” She asks softly and she sees his eyes in the dark when he looks at her. She was supposed to go with Lola the other day before she found out she was pregnant, and she’d really like to see it at least once. “And Aylee?” She doesn't even know if he knows where she’s buried, she doesn't think she knew him yet when she died. 

“Yeah.” He nods, “Of course.”

“Okay.”

“Is it hard to remember that they’re gone?” He asks suddenly, softly, but she nods. It is, since she doesn't remember them dying and her grieving them, it’s hard to remember that she can't just call them up on the phone. 

“Sometimes I feel like this is a weird dream and I’ll wake up at my mom's.” She tells him honestly, “And I’ll walk to work or school. I’ll live like none of this happened and you’ll just be a weird figment of my imagination.”

“A figment of your imagination.”

“I’d probably wish you were real.” She whispers that honestly, “Because you’re very pretty.” He’s very pretty and if this were a dream, if she woke up tomorrow only to discover that none of this was real, she'd probably be obsessed with finding him. Because he can't just not be real. What she says makes him laugh though and she laughs too because at the end of the day, he’s very real and he’s hers.

“Well, thanks.” He smiles, “You’re very pretty too.”

“Am I prettier than Olivia?” She doesn't know why she asks it, they haven't talked about her in a while, or what happened and yet, here she is bringing her up. 

“Yes.”

“Hm.” She yawns, “Good.” She mutters. “Question.” She says as he tightens the blankets around her and she scoots closer to him. 

“Answer.”

“I didn't finish college, did I?” She asks softly. She noticed his degrees- yes, degrees- on the wall of his office, but she didn't see hers' anywhere in the house. 

“No.” He tells her, “You dropped out to help your mom right before we got engaged.”

“And you didn't stop me?”

“I tried.” He says seriously, “You were determined.” 

“And I never went back?” He shakes his head.

“We got married and then we got a house and then we had James and things just kept happening.” He shrugs. She doesn't say anything, she’s a little disappointed in herself for quitting.

“What if...I want to go back?”

“Then go back.”

“I thought for sure you’d say no to that.” She sounds a little surprised at it, but he just shrugs. 

“Well, maybe not with the baby coming, but after that. I can't really stop you, and I want that for you.” She remembers what she went for, she’d have to start all over. She wanted to be a counselor, a psychologist. She wanted to help people who were struggling with drugs or alcohol or were struggling with addict parents or family members. You know, since she had so much experience in that.

“But what about you-”

“I don't see how this has anything to do with me.”

“You wouldn't be able to work so much.” She tells him and he just shrugs.

“Give me a reason to take a break,  _ please _ .” 

“I’ll think about it.” She says softly as she scoots closer and puts her head on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around her.

_ -/- _

James emerges from his room looking paler than he did the day before and when Francis goes to feel his head, he just groans. 

“You’re warm.” Francis frowns as he smooths the little boy's hair back, “Are you feeling okay, buddy?” The answer is not in the form of words, it’s in the form of yesterday's dinner, coming out of his mouth in a small gag and splattering all over his father’s shoes. 

“Sorry…” He chokes. 

“That’s alright.” He says softly and then he sighs as he steps back and the squish of his foot making contact with the contents of their child's stomach is enough to make Mary gag too. She’d like to think that she has a pretty strong stomach; considering how often she’s had to clean up her mom's vomit, but she’s pregnant, and now she’s running off to the bathroom and she’s puking too. 

“Mary?” Francis is calling for her, “Okay, well, when you’re done with that.” She hears him sigh again and it sounds heavier. She rejoins her little family in the kitchen after she wipes at her mouth and cleans herself up a bit. There’s a towel on the floor to cover the vomit and his shoes are on the counter. Francis gives her a worried look as he grabs something to clean it up but she just waves it off. Baby doesn't like vomit, no one does. 

“Where’s-”

“I sent him to go change.” He says and Mary nods as she heads to him. He’s just sitting on his bed, looking tired and under the weather. 

“You don't feel good?” She pouts as she closes the door and he shakes his head, “That’s okay.” She says softly as she goes to his dresser and pulls out a clean shirt and then she’s crouching down in front of him. She lifts the vomit-covered one off with ease and then pulls the clean one over his head, pulling his arms through the sleeves. She looks over momentarily to see the door is being eased open.

“James,” Francis says softly, “Go back to bed, you’re not going to school.” The kid doesn't argue with that and he just flops back over on his bed, eyes fluttering shut as Mary pulls the blanket around him. She joins Francis a moment later in the kitchen, scrubbing his shoes, he has a different pair on now and she frowns because she thought he’d stay home too.

“You’re leaving.”

“I have to.” He says simply, “It’ll be alright. He’ll probably sleep most of the day and you know where the medicine is.” He gives her a small smile, “You can call me if you need me.”

“What if you’re busy?”

“Call Bash.”

“What if he’s busy?”

“If it comes down to it you can call my mom.” 

“Okay but what if-”

“Mary, it will be fine.” He says that more seriously and she still frowns. He checks his phone and sighs another heavy sigh, “I have to go.” 

“Oh.”

“I’ll see you later.” He gives her a small smile before applying a soft kiss to her lips and then her cheek, “You’ll be fine.” He says as he grabs his keys and then he’s out the door. 

James sleeps most of the day away but when he does wake up, he stays in bed and she sits on the floor watching him. 

“Do you want to try and eat something?” She asks him and he shakes his head, “Are you sure?” He nods. Maybe he’ll want to later, she scoots a little closer. She probably shouldn't be around him right now, considering he’s sick and she’s pregnant but she wants to be close to him. 

“Was he mad?” He asks in a soft and tired voice, “That I threw up on his shoes?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He says softly, “I thought I made him mad.” He whispers that and shivers in his blanket, she doesn't even care that he’s sick and might be contagious, she just crawls in bed with him and wraps him in her arms. His body is warm and his hair is sweaty, but he turns over to snuggle closer. 

“Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't know if you’re allowed to tell anyone. So, don't.”

“I can't tell anyone.” He says softly, “Because I don't know what it is.” He informs her matter of factly and for a second she thought he was going to tell her he doesn't have anyone to tell, not roast her alive.

“I…” She starts slowly, “Am having a baby.” She tells him softly.

“In my bed?” 

“No, I don't mean right now.” She giggles softly, “It won't be for a few months.”

“Oh.”

“Right now it's...well it looks like a baby, it has tiny hands and tiny feet but it's not big enough to come out.” She whispers, “It was a little surprising to find out that it was...you know,  _ in  _ me.”

“Are you scared?” He asks. “Doesn't it hurt?”

“I’m terrified.” She says softly, “And yes but they have drugs for that.” She suddenly wonders if she had drugs to give birth to James, “Question.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know how I...had you?” She knows he’s a kid, that he probably couldn't tell her everything if he could tell her anything.

“Um.” He seems to be thinking now, “No.”

“Thanks for trying.” She says softly, “I’m sorry I can't remember.”

“S’okay.” He says on a sigh. Then he’s quiet and she thinks maybe he fell asleep but his eyes are open, he’s simply waiting for her to say something.

“Are you mad that I’m having a baby?”

“Why?”

“I don't know, you’re used to being the only kid around and in a few months, you won't be anymore. It’s a lot. You might not get as much attention as you’re used to.”

“Will you love me less?”

“No.” She shifts, “Never.”

“Then why would I be mad?” It’s quiet again and eventually, they both fall asleep curled up with each other. 

_ -/- _

_ He’s not supposed to be here and she rolls her eyes when she sees his face in the flashing lights. The bar is noisy and crowded and she sidesteps patrons with her empty tray in hand as she heads back to the bar. She tries to ignore him as he looks at her and she starts to pile drinks on the tray.  _

_ “Mary,” Francis says her name loudly so she can hear him over the other voices and the loud television, Ryan Seacrest is telling them how much time they have before the ball drops.  _

_ “Francis, I’m working.” She tells him but he follows her through the crowd as she carries her tray and smiles as she bends to hand customers their drinks. She feels someone's hand on her ass and she spins around, annoyed because she thought it was Francis. _

_ It wasn't.  _

_ “Do not touch my wife like that.” It's a cold snap and he has his wrist in his hand, the man just puts his hands up.  _

_ “Relax, buddy, I didn't see a ring.” _

_ “Francis.” She snaps, “Let him go.” She hums as she brushes passed him and she has no clue if he did or not, she’s a little busy.  _

_ “Mary.” He’s following her so she’s assuming he listened. “I just want to talk to you.” She narrows her eyes at him as she sets more drinks down at a table and a basket of fries almost meets the floor when someone runs into her. Does he not remember their fight? Does he not realize how freaking mad she is at him? _

_ “I’m. Working.” She tells him for what feels like the hundredth time but he just follows her back to the bar. Doesn't he have friends to be hanging out with? Where is Leith? David? Bash? _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Then go home?” She suggests as she sets her tray down on the bar, “Or a party, something? Don't you have friends?” _

_ “You’re my friend.” She rolls her eyes and Greer doesn't hide her amused smile from behind the counter. “Mary, please.” He isn't going to leave until she gives him what he wants. _

_ “I need a minute.” She mutters to Greer before she turns and grabs Francis by his shirt, she tugs him around the back, down the hall, to the employee bathroom. “Five minutes.” She snaps, it’s New Year's Eve and she’s busy. The light flickers above them.  _

_ “Uh.” He seems to be unable to speak, eyes glued to her chest. Right. She’s wearing a dark green corset top with sparkly rhinestones aligning the sweetheart neckline and very tight, black jeans.  _

_ “Losing minutes, babe.” She huffs and that seems to snap him out of it long enough to look her in the eye.  _

_ “Okay, first, where the hell did you get that, and why have you never worn it before?” He asks. _

_ “Kenna.” She tells him, “And I didn't bring you in here to talk about my clothes.”  _

_ “I know you’re angry.” _

_ “What gave you that idea?” She asks as she turns away from him. “You just told me you never want to have kids. Why would I be angry about that?” _

_ “Mary-” _ _   
_ _ “Do you not want kids or do you just not want to have them with me?” She asks that softly, he’s so good with them, how could he not want them? It had to be her. “Do I have too much baggage?”  _

_ “Mary, I never said-” _ _   
_ _ “Do you think I’d be a bad mom? Is that it? You don't have to sugar coat every single thing you tell me, you can tell me if I’d be a parent, Francis.” She’s speaking quickly, “Bad moms breed bad moms, right? Is that what you wanted to tell me? I saw how you reacted when I drank a little too much that one time.” _

_ “You left, you didn't tell me where you were going, and then you stumble home at two in the morning, drunk off your ass. How was I supposed to react?” He asks, “You’ve never acted like that before.” _

_ “I was upset that you didn't want to have kids with me!” She shouts, “And you wouldn't even tell me why!” _

_ “It's not you!” He shouts that too and she steps back with a confused frown, “I did the dad thing, do you see what happened to them?” _

_ “Francis.” _

_ “Claude was overdosing in front of me and I didn't even know.” He shakes his head, “Charles is a high school dropout, I don't even know where Henri is half the damn time, Margot...she had one meltdown after our father died, they put her on so many pills she doesn't even know if she’s coming or going. I...I was supposed to take care of them and I couldn't even do that, Mary.” She doesn't know what to say to him, so she just doesn't say anything, “How am I supposed to take care of a baby?” _

_ “Francis.” She says softly, “Do you think every parent goes into it knowing what to do?” She asks, “I know you think you’re the one to blame for what happened to your siblings but you’re not.” And she can't believe he feels that way. “They made their own decisions, Francis.” He doesn't say anything, he just frowns and they both look at the door when there’s a knock. _

_ “Mary, we’re getting slammed out here.” Is Greer’s slightly helpless call and she groans. _

_ “I’ll see you later?” _

_ “We’ll talk more when I come home.” She tells him before she leaves the bathroom. _

_ -/- _

After their nap, she does force some toast into his stomach, he doesn't eat much, about half a slice and he went right back to bed. She wishes there was more she could do for him but if the child wants to sleep it off, she can't say no. She sighs as she flips through a photo album, the one that was taken to the hospital to try and get her to remember something. She hasn't looked through it since. Some things that before felt blank, now feel hazy and familiar, and now that she’s met a few of the people in the photos, she can now apply a name to the faces. 

She recognizes her grandmother's diamond earrings in a wedding photo, the pair her mom kept locked up. It’s one of the few pieces of jewelry she ever cared about and Mary’s surprised she was ever sober enough to gift them. She wonders if she still has them.

“Hey.” Francis greets her as he walks into the bedroom, “What are you looking at?”

“Wedding stuff.”

“Did you remember something?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The corners of his mouth dip at that and he goes back to what he was doing, “Did you get James to eat anything?”

“He had some toast before he went back to bed.” She tells him as she sets the photo album back on the stand and walks over to him. “Hopefully he feels better tomorrow.” She says on a sigh as she moves his hands out of the way so she can unbutton his shirt. 

“I hope so, I hate it when he’s sick.”

“Does it remind you of…” She means when he almost died, but she can’t bring herself to say it and he gets what she means without having to ask. 

“It does, yeah.” He says softly, “Obviously that was a different type of sick, but still.” 

“It's just the flu, Francis.” She tells him, “It’s been going around. He probably got it from school.” 

“Maybe.” He steps back to pull his shirt the rest of the way off and then he’s turning away as he unfastens his watch from his wrist and she realizes then he missed the whole point of her wanting to undress him in the first place. 

“I...missed you today.” She tells him, “I was...pretty bored.” She has no idea what she’s saying right now, or how she’s thinking this conversation is going to lead where she wants it to go. He’s giving her a weird look as he drops his discarded shirt in the hamper and slips his shoes off. 

“Okay.”

“I got the rest of the puke off your other shoes and put them in the closet.”

“Thank you.” He says sweetly, tilts his head when she just stands there and picks at her finger. Seeing her do it makes him frown and she realizes she’s been making him frown a lot lately. He just walks over and grabs her hands. “Don't do that.”

“Sorry.” She says softly but her fingers just curl to find her palm, nails digging into the skin.

“No, stop.” He’s pushing his fingers in between the spaces of her own now to keep her from quite literally ripping chunks out of her skin. “I’ll tape them, I’ve done it before.”

“Sorry.”

“I thought we stopped that?” He questions and she shrugs, she doesn't remember stopping, so. She’s not sure the question applies to her. 

“Sorry, I’m nervous.”

“About?” He asks softly and she doesn't say anything, she just lurches forward and collides with his mouth. It’s a bit harder than she intended and she hears their teeth clack together and it takes him by surprise, he steps back. “Ow.”

“Sorry-”

“What are you trying to accomplish here?” He asks. Only what they’ve been trying to do for the last couple of weeks, but they keep managing to get distracted or just deciding not to. 

“I’m sorry, I don't know how to...do this.”

“Do what? Break my face?” She’s sure he isn't as annoyed as he sounds but to her he sounds like he’s pretty fed up with her. 

“Seduce you!” It flies out of her mouth before she can stop it and her hands fly over her mouth a small and embarrassed squeak from her lips. He just blinks.

“ _ Oh _ .” It's more a breath of air than it is a word that comes out of his mouth and she hates the way he’s looking at her right now. It’s like he doesn't know whether to laugh or die a little, but he clears his throat after a second and seems to regain his senses. “Mary.”

“Hm?” It’s muffled under her hands.

“Move your hands.” He tells her and she brings them down slowly, they fall at her side and she doesn't meet his gaze. She doesn't really have to, once her mouth is uncovered, he’s on her before she even realized he moved. This feels different, it’s all tongue and teeth, it’s soft in places and intense in others. It feels like that day he had her writhing in his lap in front of the fireplace when he told her he wanted her but she stopped him. 

“Wait.” She pushes against him, “Wait.”

“What?” He seems concerned when she pushes him and his hand goes to her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Not that.” She says softly, “Um.” She swallows the nervous knot in her throat, “Can you close your eyes?” She whispers the question. 

“I’ve seen you before.” He reminds her, his thumb running over her bottom lip fondly.

“You and I both know this isn't like before.” He kisses her lips lightly before he nods and she’s delighted to see he actually does close his eyes. 

“No peeking.”

“I make no promises.”

“Francis.”

“Okay, no peeking.” He says seriously and she walks behind him for extra privacy. She watches him while she yanks her pants off and tosses them, right next to him. Just so he can hear the fabric hit the floor, she almost wishes she could see his face. She does the same with her shirt and her bra and then she’s climbing in the bed and pulling the covers up to her neck. 

“Okay…” She says softly. He raises an eyebrow at the way she’s covering herself with the comforter.

“You know I’m just going to rip that off of you, right?”

“Please don't.” She says with a pout, “It’s cold.” 

“You’re so cute.” He laughs and shakes his head but then he swallows the humor and he’s headed straight for her. 

“No.”

“Why?”

“Turn off the light.”

“I’m actually going to kill you.” He says that dryly and she swallows her laugh, he does as she asks though and flicks the light off, she even hears the lock twist in place. “Anything else? Water? Tea?” 

“Tea sounds great-”   
“Mary.”

“I’m joking.” She laughs, he doesn't come over until she reaches for him and he doesn't waste any time closing the gap between them.


	16. The End is Our Beginning

She’s using her sleeves to wipe the dirt off the marbled stone plaque in the ground, it’s sunken in slightly, the ground is mushy under Mary’s folded legs as she leans forward to scrape the dry chunk of mud away from the curve of the  _ M _ . It’s weird to think that her mom is down there, underneath the dirt and mud and enclosed in a box and being feasted on by worms and bugs. She doesn't feel sad, not really, not to an irreparable degree. She knows her mom isn't down there, the body is just that; a body, and her spirit roams the earth and whatever comes after death. Maybe she’s in another form of reality, a different universe, one that’s different and happier. One where maybe her husband didn't die and she’s raising her daughter in a healthier environment. 

“She wasn't a good mom.” She says softly to nothing and no one because there’s no one else here. “But she was mine.” She was her mom and she deserves to have a clean plaque, one that isn't caked in mud and sunken in the dirt. She’s replacing the dead flowers in the vase next to the plaque when she hears it. His footsteps are light and they squish into the mushy ground as he approaches. 

“I think it’s going to rain again.” She tells him as she looks at the grey clouds that darken over them. 

“Are you ready?” Francis asks. 

“I think so.” She says softly as she reaches for his hand and he pulls her up. She’s wiping the dirt off her jeans as he walked her back to the car. 

_ -/- _

The heat of July is pouring through the cracked window and her body is sweaty, she can hear Francis breathing next to her. It’s not even light out and it’s already so  _ hot _ . She shoves the blanket down and groans when that doesn't help. Her groan intensifies when Francis rolls over and attempts to wrap his arms around her, well she shouldn't say attempt because he succeeds. He always seeks her out when they’re sleeping but it’s too hot and she attempts to untangle herself from him. It only makes him tighten his grip.

“No, too hot.” She whines it, he isn't even awake, it's not like he heard her and she sighs heavily before kicking the shit out of him. 

“Ow.” His voice is heavy with sleep, “Rude.”

“Get off.”

“No.”

“Franciiiisss-”

“Make me.” It’s half-serious, it's mostly joking but that doesn't stop her from crooking her elbow and angling it forward. “Don't even think about it.” She drops her arm with a roll of her eyes. 

“I’m sweaty.” She tells him and he hums his acknowledgment but doesn't say anything. He just nuzzles her neck and she thinks he fell back asleep but then she feels his hand pulling the shirt she borrowed from him up. “ _ Absolutely _ not.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s hot.”

“Oh, I know.” She meant temperature-wise, as in the room feels like it's on fire. It feels like they live in a freaking  _ volcano _ . 

“I’m sweaty.”

“You could stand to be sweatier.” He tells her and she attempts to close her legs but it’s too late, he’s already right where he wants to be, “Just relax.” He whispers that and she swallows hard as his hand works. It would probably be easier for him if she opened her legs a little more but she doesn't give him the satisfaction of knowing her resolve is weakening and she’s giving in. 

“No.” She says when he tries to pull her leg back and over his hip and she’s surprised that her voice is steady. “This...is all you get.” And it’s less steady with the press of his thumb. She tries not to gasp or make any noise, which is difficult considering he really knows what he’s doing and how to do it and she hates that he knows what he’s doing. “Damnit, Francis.” It comes out as a frustrated hiss and she throws her leg over his hip. 

“I knew you’d  _ come  _ around.” She makes a face at how he says it but she doesn't say anything. She just bites her lip and closes her eyes. Leave it to Francis to make jokes while he turns her into a sputtering mess. His hand eventually makes its way under the fabric of her underwear and he brushes over something that makes her eyes pop open and her body shudder. She still doesn't make any noise but she knows he felt that, it’s not enough for him and he makes it his mission to get  _ something  _ out of her. He’s insistent and unrelenting as he intensifies his efforts. He’s wide awake now as he kisses and bites at her neck. With one last push of his fingers against pulsating flesh, she collapses and his name is tearing out of her throat in something loud and long and a little bit theatrical.

“Finally,” He breathes against her neck, “Had me worried, I thought I lost my touch.”

“Shut up.” She breathes as she gathers her bearings and turns over to look at him. “Satisfied?” She asks softly as he brushes her sweat-soaked strands of hair back, taking a bit more force to peel them off her face. He doesn't say anything as he leans forward to kiss her, it’s soft and sleepy, but warm and she wonders what time it is. It can't be too late, but she can see through the window over his shoulder that the sky is starting to lighten. She stops thinking about it as he pushes her under him. 

“Francis.” She protests lightly, for no reason other than getting on his nerves. 

“Don't you dare tell me to stop.” He says that quite seriously and she quiets her protests as he places soft kisses wherever he wants. 

“Can we go out for breakfast?” She asks him, since they’re up, “I want waffles.” She thinks James would like that, but Francis doesn't answer her. He just pulls the collar of her shirt down and sucks the sweat off her collarbone, scraping with his teeth in a way that has her gasping and tangling her fingers in his hair. 

And the red shirt with the slightly dipped neckline she  _ wanted  _ to wear tomorrow goes out the window. 

“Francis, you’re ruining my outfit.” She whines and she doesn't care if it doesn't make sense to him, “I swear to god if you make it so I have to wear a turtleneck in July-  _ Oh _ .” She sucks in a hard breath and jerks away from him when he bites down on her shoulder as hard as he can. He pulls back to look at her, smirking at her scowl. 

“I’m not sorry.”

“That hurt.”

“It was supposed to.” He tells her, his expression softens when she frowns, “You can do it to me if you want.”

“I feel like you’d like that more than you’re willing to admit.” She mutters, but she wraps her legs around him and rolls. She’s overconfident, overzealous, she doesn't realize that in her writhing a few minutes prior to this, she effectively moved them. They roll right over the edge. 

Francis takes most of the impact, considering he’s under her, and it’s loud. 

“I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry.” She’s saying, the words run together, she’s jumping off of him to see if he’s okay. 

“Wow.” He breathes, “Okay, you got me. You win.”

“I didn't do it on purpose.” She says softly with a pout and she leans down to kiss him but he puts his hand up, like he’s waiting for something. The small sound comes through the walls a second later, crying, strained as it's roused from sleep. 

“I’m recovering, do you mind?” He says softly and she sighs as she stands. 

_ -/- _

Anne is one today, it’s still weird to think about, that she’s this old already. She feels it was just yesterday that Mary was begging Francis to make the pain stop as she tore through her body. She watches the little thing, still wobbly on her legs, chase James through the yard and various family members and friends stand around talking and laughing. She watches Francis stand with his brothers next to the grill while Bash flips frozen patties, she tries not smirk when she sees that her husband is moving a little bit stiffer than he usually would. 

“Remember me?” Leeza asks as she sits next to Mary at the picnic table. It's a running joke between them now, and it's usually the first thing out of the girl's mouth when she sees her. 

“Haha.” She tosses a piece of her hamburger bun at her. 

“Just checking, you never know with you.” She jokes. Mary doesn't remember everything, she finds the earlier the memory, the fuzzier it is, but she remembers something new every day. Last week she remembered how Francis proposed, or how she proposed because she did it first. Which is something she loves to remind him of. The other day she remembered how she pulled him in the bathroom at her mother's funeral and that lead to her being irrationally angry at him for not giving her what she wanted at that moment. 

She doesn't remember the accident and she hopes she never does, but she has nightmares sometimes about twisted metal and broken glass, sirens in the distance. The occasional debilitating headache reminds her that it happened at all. 

Her brother is here, though they haven't talked much, this morning he couldn't meet her eyes. She turned into a blushing mess when she remembered that he was on their couch last night and likely heard... _ everything _ . That would explain the daggers he shot at Francis with his eyes. He’s talking to Greer and she thinks there might be something happening there, but she doesn't know. 

“Bash, no!” Is a shriek and then a splash when a shrieking and giggling Kenna meets pool. When she resurfaces, she grabs Bash’s ankle and yanks him in too. 

“I don't remember advertising this as a pool party,” Francis comments but he laughs as he swiftly pulls her children away from the water. He sets Anne in her lap before sitting behind her and wrapping his arms around Mary’s waist. 

“Francis.” She gets his attention as one hand goes over Annes eyes, it's too late for James, he already sees it. Kenna and Bash seem to be lost to the rest of the world around them and are full-blown making out.

“That’s not family-friendly!” Francis shouts it as loud as he can and Mary tries not to laugh at how the two spring apart, sputtering apologies. 

“Bash and I are thinking about eloping,” Kenna tells her as she twists the excess water from her shirt and Mary tosses a towel her way. They’re inside and she’s getting the cake ready, a little circular thing with pale pink and white icing. Leith made it and she wonders where he is. “We just don't want anything big.”

“I’ve never known you to pull away from a party.”

“Oh, we’ll have one later.” She smirks. 

“Are you sure you don't want a big wedding?” She asks, watching her friend wrap her hair up in the towel she gave her, she’s still dripping. She shrugs.

“Eh.”

“Hey, who let this wet dog in the house?” Bash asks as he walks through the back door and Kenna gapes as she tosses a soaked shoe at his head. He dodges it and just turns to Mary. “Francis is asking where you went.”

“I’m almost done.” 

“Great.” He smiles and then he’s ruffling Kenna’s wet head. “Do you need a hairdryer?”

“Shut up.” She quips back, “How are you already dry?!” She exclaims, she wouldn't say he’s dry, he’s still damp. 

“I stayed outside in the sun.” He tells her, “Like a smart person.”

“You guys have a weird relationship,” Mary comments as they throw more insults at each other. 

“You’re one to talk, looks like someone took a chunk out of your shoulder,” Kenna says it casually and Bash makes a face. Mary gasps as her hand flies to her shoulder, to her horror, that part of her shirt had fallen down enough that the mark is shining a pretty red against her pale skin. 

“Ew, how long has it-”   
“The whole time.” Kenna says softly, “And I noticed Francis is a little stiff, what’d you do? Take your pony out for a few too many gallops?”

“Aaaaand I’m exiting this conversation,” Bash says quickly before he leaves. She doesn't even know what to say to that, so she just tries to wipe the blush from her face and flicks the lighter in her hand to life.

_ -/- _

She’s tucking James in and putting Anne to bed later, after the sky has darkened and everyone has left. Her brother included because he didn't want a repeat of last night, as were his words. She finds Francis in the backyard, still cleaning up paper plates and cups.

“You can wait until morning.” She tells him as she walks down the steps and heads over to him.

“Do you want our yard overrun with rodents?” He asks, “All this food and trash laying around-” She kisses him.  _ Hard _ . 

“Wait.”  _ Kiss _ . “Until.”  _ Kiss _ . “Morning.”  _ Kiss _ .

“Nice argument, but no.” He bumps his nose against hers and continues picking up trash. It’s still hot despite the fact that the sun has been down for a few hours now and she unlocks the gate to the pool, slipping her shoes off and sitting on the edge to dip her legs in. He doesn't ask what she’s doing, he just cleans up, throwing a questioning look over his shoulder. 

“It’s hot.” She tells him as an answer to her unasked question. 

“Don’t fall in.” Is all he says and that gives her an idea. It’s hot. They have a pool. They don't really use the said pool. She swings her legs over and checks to see if he’s watching, he isn't, his back is turned and he seems to have forgotten that she was there. Mary tugs her shorts down her legs and then pulls her shirt over her head before easing herself down in the water. 

He still hasn't turned around and she wads up her shirt to throw it at him, it snags on the gate and she does the same with her shorts. She throws them harder and squeaks when she hits him in the back of the head. 

“What are you-” He turns, “Mary, what are you doing?”

“Swimming.” She tells him with a giggle.

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Why are you-”   
“I told you, it's hot.” She says that slower, it makes perfect sense, he’s just no fun. 

“Our kids swim in that.”   
“And?”

“You’re naked.”

“No.” She shakes her head, she still has her undergarments on, “See?” She uses the side to lift herself enough so he can see her bra-clad chest and the bare skin of her stomach. He shakes his head as he turns towards the house, but he turns back to her. “Swim with me.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She pouts, resting her chin on her arms at the side of the pool. 

“Mary-”   
“Do you want to know what I remembered today?” She asks him and she knew that would pique his curiosity. He walks over but he doesn't come close enough for her to pull him in. 

“What.” He asks as he crouches down to her height. “Did you remember today?” It happened when she was cutting the cake, it just came out of nowhere and she did freeze a little, but she’s learned over the last few months to just push it to the back of her mind and analyze it later.

“I’m not going to tell you until you get in.” She teases. 

“Really?” He stands, he doesn't look annoyed but he quirked a brow at her. “If James wakes up and comes out here-”

“I’ll explain. I know.” She smiles, satisfied that he’s complying to her demands and she gets to watch him reluctantly remove his shirt and his pants and then he’s in. “Yay.” She says as she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. 

“What did you remember?” He asks, remembering the other end of her bargain. 

“The first time you kissed me.” She tells him, which might have a bit to do with her behavior at the moment. “When you came over unannounced to beg me to go out with you again and you had a bottle of sparkling grape juice because you knew my mom couldn't have alcohol.”

“You weren't very happy with me.” He smiles fondly and it doesn't feel like it was that long ago, they were so young then, and now look at them. “I can't believe it’s almost been two years.” He says softly, “Since I almost lost you…” It’s hard for her to believe too and she isn't really sure what to say now so she just leans forward. 

_ He tastes like a mix of fruit punch and chlorine _ she thinks as their mouths meet and their tongues follow, as light kisses deepen and the water around them ripples. His arms tighten around her and her legs tighten around him as her arm reaches behind her back. 

“I love you.” She breathes against his mouth and he smiles as he helps her pull her bra off and then he’s back to kissing her and it’s slower this time and less impatient. She remembers the first (second-first) time she said that to him. The night she made him close his eyes while she got undressed; after the lights were out and they were sweaty and breathing heavy. When he was pressing soft circles in the skin of her back. She remembers the way he lit up when she said it, how he confessed that he thought he may never hear her say it again. 

Because she didn't remember ever loving him, he wasn't sure if she could feel that way again, not entirely. 

“I love you.” She tells him again when he’s tossing what’s left of their clothes somewhere in the yard, it should be fun looking for them later, but right now she doesn't care. She says it again when he has his hands on her hips and hers are on his shoulders and all it takes is one small movement of his hips to sink into her, the water gives it a different feeling as she moves against him. 

“Remember me?” He asks her when they’re coming down from their high and she laughs against his shoulder thinking she won't ever forget him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, this is the end. Thanks for sticking with it, I know this is a weird concept for these two. There won't be a sequel to this, I don't even know what I’d do for it, I think this is just better off as a stand-alone story. I do have some leftover flashbacks/dreams that I’m not really sure what to do with. I might post them as a separate thing, think of it as bonus content, there’s a lot I didn't use. 
> 
> I am currently halfway through another- yes another- Modern au Frary fic. I’m not sure if I’ll post it on FF as I’m simply not using that account as much, but it will be on Archive of Our Own, which is also where the leftover flashbacka will be if I post them. Thanks so much for reading guys, if you have any questions just message me on here or on Tumblr. :)


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